The Muchly Miserable Marriage
by Odders0121
Summary: My version of the prewedding, wedding and post wedding scenes of book one. What if Count Olaf had finally won Violet over? yes, it's strong Violaf. My first fic too. Be nice. Please?
1. Trapped in the tower

Chapter one: Trapped in the Tower

**Authors note: These characters do not belong to me. They belong to Lemony Snicket/Daniel Handler.  
**

Violet sat in the cold, stiffness of the wooden chair up in Count Olaf's tower. Her plan had failed and she found herself trapped. Her grappling hook unfortunately got snagged onto the hooks of the hook-handed man. She was just as trapped as Sunny, who was still sitting glumly in the wavering birdcage, thrust out of the window and dangling in the night. Violet's captor had mercilessly pushed her into the chair and whipped out a battered walkie-talkie from his greasy, old coat. He seemed to have difficulty operating it with his hooked-hands. If this were a normal occasion, and he were a normal man, Violet would've tied up her shoulder length black hair in its red ribbon and begin to devise a way for him to use it with ease. But this was not a normal situation, and he was not a normal man, so she sat in anxious silence and let him struggle with the hand-held communication device.

Her stomach tossed and turned - what would Count Olaf do when he found out about her rebellion? She'd already gave into him once tonight, agreeing to marry him, but now he had her under his thumb he would probably take advantage of her and punish her more harshly than he'd ever done.

Violet's eyes wondered around the messy room. When people said that their rooms reflected their personalities, she's never really thought too deeply about it, but it really struck her now. The wallpaper was crusty and yellow, just like Count Olaf's untidy fingernails. Cobwebs dangled from the ceiling lazily like the wisps of grey hair he had left. The wine bottles on the floor shone like his malicious eyes in the moonlight from the open window. Violent noticed the labels were peeled mindlessly from the olive-green glass bodies. Her mind drifted off as she remembered seeing the similar bottles on the family dining table back in the past. The Baudelaire parties were always merry times. Their parents would become tipsy, put on the phonograph and waltz around the dining area singing out of tune. It had always been an amusing sight… but the discarded bottles on the grimy floor now made her heart claw at her chest for the old times to come back. Her eyelashes briskly fluttered as she blinked away the tears of happy memories that she'd never encounter again.

After much cursing and dropping it on the floor, the hook-handed man managed to activate the walkie-talkie and it crackled into life. He gave Violet a perverted smile and pressed the button on its side, to speak to the holder of the walkie-talkies partner… That owner was unfortunately Olaf. The man never took his eyes from Violet as he spoke.

"Boss, it's me." His sickening smirk grew, "Your blushing bride wanted to give the pumpkin-headed baby a visit and climbed all…the…way...up… your… tower…-" His hook was slowly tracing upwards in the air, as if to represent Violets ascent up the tower, but with the look in his eyes - he was saying something else. She could almost feel the cold metal sliding up her spine. His voice was gentle at these words a small pause between each, as if to let her savor his actions. He knew how he was affecting her… Goosebumps surfaced on her arms which she knew wasn't from the breeze from the window, she felt slightly sick and wanted the hook-handed man to leave the room as soon as possible.

There was gabbling coming from the walkie-talkie that Violet could not make out clearly- she was too far away to hear. It was Count Olaf's voice of course. There was no way she could misplace the voice that had stamped on her happiness, crushing it completely. The hook-handed man paused to listen to him and then replied, shrugging…"I don't know, some sort of giant claw."

"It was a grappling hook." Violet murmured through gritted teeth, ripping the sleeve from her nightgown and creating a simple bandage for the throbbing shoulder affected by the spiky backlash of her invention. To be a henchman of a notorious villain and not know the name of a simple device as the grappling hook slightly annoyed her.

There was fainter gabbling. The hook handed man stared at Violet through shiny eyes, the wicked smirk danced further up his face, revealing his yellow teeth at her, as Count Olaf continued to speak. The hook handed man nodded along to whatever he was saying and said… "Yes! She's been a very naughty boss; do you want me to…?"

The walkie-talkie violently buzzed as Count Olaf shouted a furious "NO!" that Violet clearly heard from her seat. The hook-handed man has obviously been planning something very awful indeed. Violet shivered and focused her sleepy eyes on the floor, straining her ears to hear the argument beginning to flare between these two horrid people.

"B-but, why?" the hook handed man stuttered through the hissing voice of Count Olaf,fighting his corner. The Count was obviously having none of it. "Yes boss…" The hook handed man finally submitted. "Sorry boss… Won't happen again…Yes boss….She's only yours. I won't touch her." And that was the end of it. The walkie-talkie said no more.

Violet cringed and forcibly looked away from his disappointed figure, apart from being caught and being forced to marry a horrid actor in around twenty hours, she considered herself lucky not to be "touched" by this vile man. She felt herself shift backwards into the chair as he sighed heavily and shuffled towards her.

"Count Olaf said he's not pleased with his bride…" He spat, smiling like a well fed lion with a tooth decay problem. Violet's stomach lurched at being referred to as Olaf's bride, but she knew, if there was no action taken against him soon, she would be. And God knows what he'd do when he had her and the family's money. She vowed not to think that far yet…

"I'm not his bride." Violet spat at him angrily. This man didn't scare her as much after the argument he had. If he made any advance, she could always tell Count Olaf… no matter how horrid he was. He had the hook-handed man under his thumb.

"You will be in around…" He paused and squinted slightly, calculating... "Twenty hours…" Her captor chuckled crossing his dirty arms across his chest. She hated to be rude, but this man had planned something nasty to perform on her. She only had Count Olaf to thank for saving her from that one, that very thought made her shudder.

The Hook-handed man gave a loud, sharp bark of laughter as he saw her shudder. "I'm off to wake your Bookworm Brother. We have much preparation for tomorrow night's performance. I'd like to start early…" With a smirk, he left the tower, slamming the door shut. Violet ran towards it, but the lock clicked before her fingers reached the handle. She sighed and padded barefoot over to the open cage where Sunny sat. Violet patted her head and cooed that everything was alright, as if her sister were a ruffled bird instead of a baby. But nothing was alright. Nothing was at all. Her brain grinded for a way out but all seemed lost. Sunny stood and reached out to her sister through the bars.

"_Hobbala ki_?" Sunny asked, meaning "_will Count Olaf hurt you, Violet_?" Violet smiled at Sunny as she resumed her sitting position. It amazed her how at such a young age; her sister had been through so much. But Violets heart sank. She had no idea whether Olaf would hurt her or not. She dreaded to find out. All she could do for now was lie.

"He won't hurt us, Sunny… He won't…" She soothed with a false smile.

"I most certainly wouldn't…" said a spine chilling voice, as bony pale hands snaked around her waist. Violet's heart almost stopped. Count Olaf had entered the room so silently that she thought she'd been alone. Sunny gave a whimper of fear as Violet took a deep breath inwards in a state of icy shock. Her eyes snapped shut tightly, silently praying it wasn't real. She'd underestimated how thin her nightdress actually was and could feel the desire tingling in his fingertips. She could feel his eyes boring into her body as if she were actually naked in his grip. She felt sick and faint.

"Violet, Violet, Violet." He sighed as a large hungry snake would allure a little mouse. "I would never hurt you…I wouldn't want to wreck that pretty little face of yours, would I?" He was standing behind her, with his arms entwined around her ribcage. "I'd never hurt you… Only if you begged me to…"

Violet looked up into his glistening eyes and felt a lump grow in her throat. He seemed to be feeding from her fear, her pain. He leaned in slowly, and she struggled against his hold. He pulled his arms sharply inwards into her lungs and she gasped as the air left them. Stars flashed in front of her watering eyes. She could hear Sunny wailing at the top of her voice. Watching all of this seemed to be painful for her. He roughly grabbed Violets hair and turned her head towards his, and leaned in once again to kiss her. That was when the door was flung open.

Violet blinked away her tears hoping to see her parents returned from the dead, or the police, or an axe-wielding maniac seeking revenge on Count Olaf. But to her misfortune, the people in the door way were not who Violet wanted them to be. They were the White faced women, each sharing the handle of a little black handbag. Count Olaf roughly pushed Violet away, huffing at the fact they'd burst in on a rather intimate moment to him. He put his hands on his hips as Violet stood panting between sobs of pain and woe; tears were soaking her face and reddening her eyes. Count Olaf moodily beckoned the white faced women over, they obeyed. Each of them grabbing one of Violet's arms and slamming her against the grubby wall, restraining her tightly. They had dropped to bag to the floor in this brisk action. Count Olaf picked it up and opened it, a small smirk on his face at the sight of the contents.

The treacherous villain dipped his fingers into the flimsy purse and pulled out a large syringe, filled heavily with mysterious, clear liquid. He took a step closer, and hovered it around at Violets bare neck. He laughed as she screamed.

"You'll need some beauty sleep before your big day!" he exclaimed loudly over her shrieks and sobs. With another sharp cackle of laughter, he rammed the shining point into her neck and pushed the plunger- emptying the general anesthetic into her bloodstream. Violet kicked and fought, but nothing would stop him, she was slowly growing sleepier, her legs aching from her long climb. She couldn't face the effort of struggling anymore... _no more, no more_, she thought wearily, delirious from the injection.

The white faced women let go of her and she slumped to the floor like a ragdoll. The screams of her baby sister being the last thing she heard before she was engulfed by total darkness and silence…


	2. The sad siblings

**Chapter two: The Sad Siblings**

Violet's eyes peeled open wearily and winced as the action triggered a pain in her head. So sharp that it was as if a nest of bees was trapped inside her skull, stinging to bore a way out. The drug she'd been sedated with had only knocked her out, but she felt incredibly sick and tired - a feeling she did not want to last. An orange canopy swam above her and became clearer as she blinked several times. She wiggled her shoulder blades weakly and found that she was lying on a squashy bed.

She looked to her right and saw the dusty, orange canvas of the tent wall, it looked very old. She was glad it wasn't as bright as it probably used to be - her eyes were sore enough. She looked to her left and saw the inside space of the tent. Nearest to her was a dressing up table littered with jars and palettes all smeared with various make-up. She could make out the odd, spiky brushes for applying blusher; they too looked old and over-used. Her eyes seared as she strained them, feeling the sharp sting like the oncoming of a migraine.  
On the opposite side of the tent was a large trunk painted with leering eyes that were all focused on her. She could see sleeves, scarves and other various musty, old garments sticking out from under the closed lid. It was a costume box, surrounded by full length mirrors on dented legs. If they could, Violet guessed, that they would drop to the floor with an exhausted groan. Watching people preen themselves in various garments must be a boring life.

But that costume box… it reminded her of her childhood, when she would invent new pieces to wear from the gaudy hand-me downs her grandparents had passed to the family. She remembered creating a top hat topped with a hand held umbrella. She could just about visualise Klaus, who was only Sunny's age at the time, gurgling merrily at her new accessory. For he could not notify her on when umbrellas were first created or how important weight ratio was in their manufacture, so all he did was bang on the floor in approval and waved a brightly coloured picture book over his head. For such a proud older sister, that was all he needed to do.

Her eyes stung with bitter tears as it all came back to her. The times when she knew home was their sanctuary. Now she had no home, she had no sanctuary. Many people would say she was lucky for not passing away with her parents... _Lucky… _She flopped back down on the bed, frowning at that word… People who survive train crashes are lucky. People who win bingo are lucky. People who outrun hungry cougars are lucky. But she realised there and then that she was the luckiest. As Violet Baudelaire sank into a weary sleep, she realised that she was lucky to have her siblings sharing her woe…

_ She was standing in a gloomy church; everything was painted in hues of black and white. She looked down to see herself dressed in a big, puffy, white wedding dress- decorated with pearls and miniature black flowers. Her hair lay in jet black curls on her bare shoulders. She looked to her right and saw Mr. Poe at the pulpit. He was dressed as a bishop, reading the ceremony from a very big book, bank notes sticking out from pages he had marked. He read and didn't look up. Violet watched him speak, but she could not hear a word. It was if someone had switched the volume button off. At the back of the church, Sunny hung from the candelabra in her cage. She was dressed in a white angel costume, complete with a tinsel halo. _

_ She frowned and turned her head to see Count Olaf standing opposite her in a stripy tuxedo with curled tails, all in black and white. A tall top hat with a handheld umbrella sat on his head. It was fully open and hung over both of them like a gloomy, ragged bat. Klaus stood beside him in a white pageboy gown, decorated in black swirls. In his open palm sat two shiny rings. Violets stomach lurched in fear. She looked up to meet Count Olaf's eyes, shining like the rings in Klaus's hand. He smirked, and winked at her. Seeing her eyes widen in horror, he began to laugh a vile sound that shattered the thick, choking silence like thin ice. She screamed for it all to stop, her heart pounding in sheer terror, but found she could still make no noise…_

_ Olaf's cruel cackles deafened Violet as tears stung at her eyes. Olaf had stopped but the vicious sound still echoed round and round them both in endless circles. Still grinning wickedly her grabbed Violet__'__s wrist and hauled her towards him__,__ staring at her__.__ His eyes were shining with victory and twisted amusement like stolen diamonds. She sobbed and screamed silently for help. He opened up his mouth to speak but all that came out was-_

"_VIOLET! WAKE UP!" He froze in shock. It was Klaus's voice coming from his mouth. The church was melting like chocolate in the summer around them, Olaf went pale for a moment and then tried again, frowning__.__ His grip was loosening-_

"_VIOLET! PLEASE!" was all that came out again. Olaf growled angrily, his face darkened into a furious scowl… Without warning, he yanked her closer into him- their lips brushed and-_

"NO!" Violet shrieked sitting up on the orange bed, the room danced through the tears welling in her eyes. Klaus was sitting beside her, holding her wrists, completely oblivious to the dream she'd just experienced. She fell back and sobbed angrily into the tattered orange pillow, gripping the bed sheets so hard that her knuckles were ghostly white. Klaus soothed her gently patting her on the back and whispering to her that it was okay. But it wasn't okay. Violets dream would be coming true so very soon. The hours had slipped by like a frisky trout from a fisherman's grip, everything was tumbling downhill.

Violet weakly sat up, her face wet with petrified tears. She remembered his cold, thin hands around her and dreaded to think of what he was to do to her when they were legally joined. She knew his intentions were decadent. She knew there'd be nothing to stop him either…

"Violet! Calm down!" Klaus hissed urgently as she began to cry again. He had never seen his sister like this before and it was incredibly alarming. She was gasping for oxygen as she gradually came to her senses. It was when she saw Klaus' costume for the play that he spoke again…

The middle Baudelaire child was wearing a sky-blue sailor's outfit. It seemed to be a bit small, as the trousers only came to his bony knees. On his head sat a sailor's cap. This attire made him look very young… in fact; he looked like a toddler again. If this had been a happy occasion such as a fancy dress party or a navy parade, Violet would have laughed at it all. She would have giggled and chuckled at how silly her brother looked in his costume. But this wasn't a happy occasion. She was soon to be married to the most horrible man alive. Their inheritance would be all his from the moment the wedding ceremony ended. There was _nothing_ funny about the danger suffocating them slowly of happiness…

"Are you okay?" Klaus asked, shifting irritably in his outfit. Seeing it clearer, Violet could almost feel the itchy material on her own skin. She looked down at herself and found herself dressed in a white, frilly wedding dress. It was decorated with pearls and white flowers. Her stomach lurched as it brought her dream fresh in her mind once more. She stared at it for a minute, until she blinked and met her brother's eyes. She had been prepared without her own knowing.

In an instant, they hugged, tightly, both crying silently for the death of their happy times. They cried for their parents. Their lost home and the memories there. They cried for Sunny, who was being used as bait and they cried for the fear she was facing. They cried for Klaus' itchy outfit and they cried for Violets' wedding dress. They cried knowing that, unlike any others they'd attended, this would be the most miserable marriage ever.

"Isn't there _anything_ we can do?" Violet asked, rubbing her eyes, and releasing from her brother's tight embrace. He shook his head slowly and lowered his gaze. "Not that I know of…" He murmured, fiddling with the itchy material of his costume.

"Why us, Klaus?" Violet muttered gloomily, "What have we done to deserve this?" Her brother shook his head and patted his sister's shoulder.

"Maybe, we'll never know… I can only hope this is just a down period. Things may get better-"

The children jumped as the bald-headed man burst into the tent. Things had not got better. He gave a grotesque grin at Klaus. "C'mon sailor, you're on!" Klaus hesitated, but the villainous companion broke the last thread of hope by grabbing the young boy's arm and pulling him roughly out into the world where life just wasn't beautiful anymore.

Violet sat still and silent for a minute, completely empty inside. She then stood shakily and walked to the messy dressing table. The make-up smelt thick and heavily of chemicals and shined with grease. Nothing like the delicate, rose smelling powders and lotions her mother used to wear.

She picked up what she needed with shaking fingers her mind swirling like a calming tornado. Fighting back the tears of despair, she fixed her make-up for the life ahead of her.


	3. Here Dances the Bride

Chapter 3: Here dances the bride.

Note: Hey, thanks for all the fantastic reviews! I'm honored, really!

Characters aren't mine, blah, blah, blah!

Enjoy the chapter!

Klaus watched as Olaf paced backwards and forwards on the stage, garbling his lines like a bubbling stream under his breath, his one eyebrow furrowed in concentration. Klaus could almost see the puny cogs grinding in his skull. He felt very awkward standing amongst the actors for the final wedding scene. The real wedding scene. He was surrounded by stony faced bakers in dusty aprons, holding cardboard cakes at their sides like tambourine players on a lunch break. There were several Egyptian queens who were all whispering together, comparing the fake snake bites drawn upon their necks. There were Policemen, sailors, pirates, genies, a French waiter, two people in a big brown camel suit and even a mermaid who lay glumly on the dirty stage, lazily doodling in the layer of dust on top of the wood. Justice Strauss stood quietly at the back, keeping her head down, reading her lines from the book, although they needn't be learned. The curtains remained closed over the nervous actors, the sound of the restless crowd buzzed like excitable bees.

Without warning, Klaus suddenly felt sick. This was his sister they were about to marry off and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. As long as one Baudelaire child lived, the fortune was safely in Olaf's dirty fist, and in the other… was Violet's own hand…

The actors around him suddenly began to grow more anxious, at the click of an invisible button, muttering their lines at top speed under their breath around him. He felt as if a lullaby was being sung to him by a ghost. His eyelids drooped as he felt fainter and fainter…

_ Maybe if he fainted, he'd stall the play…_

Klaus smiled wearily at his idea and concentrated on the thick body heat of all the actors around him, the itchy costume that threatened to scratch at him until only bone would be left. He strained his ears and magnified the buzz of the crowd… just as the moth eaten cloth flew open-

_Bzzzz, buzz, buzz, buzz… _

"**Bless you, bless you, bonny bee:  
Say, when will your wedding be?  
If it**** be tomorrow day,  
Take your wings and fly away."**

Violet's voice sounded oddly strangled as she sung to herself. A nursery rhyme her mother used to recite upon seeing the bees collect in the rose bushes. As she sang it to herself, those hazy summer days, floated inside her skull. She could still smell the honeysuckle and hear the crickets sing as the days had died away with blood red skies.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror. She'd re-applied all the makeup that'd dissolved from her tears. If she was to hopelessly give herself and the family fortune to Count Olaf-her tearstained cheeks weren't to show. She looked up from the miniature flowers on the bodice of her wedding dress. They looked like white sleeping spiders. Her feet had been slipped into silky black ballet slippers. The ribbons wound and twisted around her ankles and up her soft, pale legs and ended in drooping bows below her knees.

When her eyes hit the mirror once again, she wasn't alone. She could see the faces of the white women over each of her shoulders. In the dim, orange light provided from the dying light outside, the women wore the exact same expression- Deadly seriousness. Violet spun around to face the cold, hard stares, her back colliding with the rim of the dressing table. There was no way she could reason, not a chance. She was just a girl. A young girl about to be married. The word "married" brought another fresh wave of self-pity and dread over her. Her fingers trembled; her lowered eyes briskly blinked away tears instinctively.

Violet's eyes finally dared her to look up and meet her fate. As she did, the white faced women looked to the floor themselves, with a guilt that said they were doing this through obedience. Without saying a word, they stepped forward, grabbed Violets arms and yanked her forwards. Then one moved behind her, pulling both of Violets arms to meet the base of her own spine- in the manner you cuff a robber. Violet gasped as she felt a brash rope, binding her wrists together, cutting into her skin and preventing her escape. Once her wrists were tightly in place, a long piece of dark red silk was placed over her eyes the ends roughly tied into a tight knot at the back of her head.

She winced as the woman completed her knot with yanking the ends tighter and tighter, much so that even Violets mind felt claustrophobic. She was being treated like a criminal.

She felt each of her shoulders being gripped onto like a helpless rabbit being snatched from the ground by a peckish eagle. The white faced-women's fingernails were like actual nails boring into her cold, trembling skin. It was if she was a lamb being taken to the slaughter, her eyes covered to stop her from panicking. She heard the women hiss at each other-

"We'll lead her around the back."

"Why?"

"So the audience doesn't see her! Besides, it's not her cue yet."

"Okay! Okay!"

And so it was, with nothing for her to do to prevent it, Violet was pulled by her shoulders by the two women. She felt the brush of the canvas tent flap as she was taken into the world outside, she could feel the dying heat of the early spring day and she could smell the sickly scent of the honeysuckle. She knew the final scene hadn't started yet, she could hear the audience chatting amongst themselves impatiently, waiting for the torture they labeled a "finale"-

_Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz… _

There were no words from the white faced women as they led her to what seemed to be a small tunnel running alongside the stage. As she stepped in she could hear the dull plop of water dripping in from somewhere on the ceiling. There were no lights or sign of human life except for the three of them. The air was stagnant, as if the overpowering honeysuckle bushes had been burnt and thrown into a marsh.

From nowhere, the chilling voice of Count Olaf filled the air, magnified a hundred times as the sound waves entered the tunnel. Violet knew straight away he was performing a monologue to the crowd- a monologue being when an actor speaks to the audience of their inner feelings- a perfect chance for Olaf to taunt the distressed orphans to give the oblivious crowd a clue of how he really did feel - out of character.

But as Olaf began, the buzzing undermined it as if he had an arm of wasps under his control. She felt faint again. She wanted to run, to scream. But his voice stopped every thought she possessed. He was speaking of his victory- and he knew she could hear him.

From the moment, the curtain opened, the dizziness Klaus had felt had slipped from his grasp. The footlights wrenched his eyes open and burned at his skin, losing the chance to pass out. He felt still now, too still. "Cemented to the spot" was the correct phrase to be used.

Olaf had completely changed from the second the audience snapped eyes on him- that was the magic of acting. He smiled and slid to centre stage opened his mouth to give a monologue- a dramatic technique where the actor explains his true feelings to the crowd below. Klaus dreaded to hear it; he knew that it was mainly to taunt the orphans. This monologue was one of dramatic irony. This means, dear readers, that the audience think Count Olaf is a nice, honorable and genuine man. However, we and the orphans know otherwise.

He started-

"_For now is now, and the time is the time,_

_There's not much to be said from this silly rhyme,_

_Tonight is the night that we're to be wed,_

_If it doesn't happen soon someone will end up dead!"_

The audience chuckled at the obviously threatening line; this was a joke to them! A joke!

"_Her eyes are soft grey, and her hair is coal black,_

_Now she has me, she can never turn back,_

_Now is the time for the fun to really start,_

_From now 'til forever, til death do us part,_

_Her glistening eyes can tease,_

_Those small pale hands will certainly please,_

_Late into the night when there is no more wine,_

_I'll prove to her that she's no-one's but mine._

From inside the tunnel, Violets stomach lurched, she really had intentions that she'd feared all along. She scuffed her feet trying to stop herself, but the white faced women continued to drag her, like a flimsy doll, in to the red abyss created by the crimson blindfold.

Violet then heard other characters give their lines, exclaiming their happiness for the couple, wishing them the best in the future.

"_It's all a lie…_" Violet croaked. Tears threatening to wreck her wedding mask of thick black make up. Her hands had begun to shiver like the paper banners and bunting that decorated the wedding scene up on the stage.

One of the white faced women had pinched her arm to make her stop. She'd given a bitter squeak and bit her lip to try and control herself. She noticed they they'd all come to a sudden stop.

She gave a sharp gasp as the rope binding her wrists was wrenched off and each of her wrists was grabbed and held tightly as something was wrapped around them. Something cold and thin and cutting. It felt like fishing wire.

She gave a whimper as some was tied around her thin ankles too, she could feel cold, bony hands tying it tight. She heard the hushed whispering of Olaf's henchmen, tying her up with this wire. She felt like a lamb being toyed with before being sent to slaughter. Being sent to _him_.

The wires around her wrists and around her ankles began to tug a little, bringing her wrists, arms, legs up with them too. She heard variety of muffled sniggers and harsh whisperings as they did so. The tugging was coming from above, as if she was a puppet being controlled by a giant up above.

It suddenly hit her. She was going to be used as a puppet! They had-

But before she could finish that train of thought, she felt grimy, calloused hands grip each of her bare shoulders and they began to spin her. She could still see nothing due to the cloth but the harsh giggling got louder. She was spinning faster. It felt like hundreds of hands were all spinning her now. Her thoughts began to spin to. The audience began to buzz again-

_Buzz! Buzzbuzzbuzz! Buzzzz…_

She gave a startled cry of fear and bit her lip still trying to keep mental focus. She could feel her arms being lifted and flopped against her own accord. She was about to scream out but music suddenly struck up and the blindfold was ripped off, an itchy bouquet of old flowers was placed in her arms and she was pushed out of the arch and into the aisle.

It had begun.

Klaus's innards turned to ice when he saw Violet. He'd watched with sheer horror as Olaf's henchmen had attached wires to her wrists, ankles and one loop around her hips behind the artificial stone arch. All their wires led up to the bald headed man who was up on a steel pipe track above the whole audience. He sat on a small wooden board with wheels that squeaked as a wire on a pulley system pulled him along. Violet was being pulled towards the stage where Klaus was waiting. She was to be tugged along to her doom. But there was more-

-Oh yes, so much more dancing! It'd only just begun and he wasn't going to miss a second. Olaf eyes lit up as the bald headed man began to jerk and yank the wires from up above therefore yanking up the wires around Violets fragile, ankles, wrists and hips too, making her _dance._

_ She was dancing up the aisle. She was dancing to him._

_ For him. All for him._

He smirked with every hip jiggle and every sassy little kick that she was being made to do. The audience was spellbound, watching in enchanted awe; their eyes wide like silver dollars. Somewhere clapping began to rise along to the beat of the accordion and fellow instruments in their spellbinding tune. The audience had no idea that this was all against her will- they still loved it, regardless. Violet was too dizzy and disorientated to stop herself or call out for help. She was dancing towards her betrothed. This really was something beautiful. Olaf couldn't wait to get his way-

-With no inkling of the truth behind the ceremony, Klaus had watched the audience enjoy every sick second of Violet's forced dance. She'd done it all, spinning, kicks, bows, curtsies. They all thought that the wire was to enhance the young woman's dancing, not to force it. He could see Olaf watching like a hungry animal underneath the dizzying music, the cheers and clapping of the audience. He was licking his lips and giving them small bites with some sort of monster desire. Klaus felt anger wash over him like a tidal wave. He was just about to make a move when he realised that Violet had reached the bottom of the stage, still dancing away under the control of the wires.

The bald headed man gave a final enormous tug and Violet did an incredible spin upwards, floating right onto her spot at Olaf's side. He grabbed her around the waist and spun her around shouting in his character's booming voice, "My angel! My angel! I just _knew_ you wouldn't let me down!" The bald headed man cut the wires as far down as he could reach with a pair of rusty scissors, then began to descend down a long ladder at the side of the roof of this outdoor, tatty stage. Violet felt completely stunned as the audience went ecstatic- clapping, cheering and whistling for the blushing bride's performance. She felt so sick, dizzy and humiliated.

She felt Olaf's hot breath on her neck as he whispered "Now that is what I like to see, Violet." She shuddered and looked up at him, he was looking right back at her with a look of pure animal hunger. The sound of the crowd had died down. Sickly, false happiness hung in the atmosphere.

Justice Strauss' clear, dominant voice broke the silence-

"We shall proceed…"


	4. Runaway Bridegroom with Violet in tow

**Chapter 4: Runaway Bridegroom… with Violet in tow.**

**Hey-ho kids, sorry the update's taken so long! It's a bigg 'un! And gets a bit frisky so the ratings been bumped.**

**Lucky you readers, eh?**

**Enjoy.**

**(Characters belong to L.Snicket.)**

**Reviews muchly appreciated.**

Olaf's stomach did excitable somersaults as the dreary, boring, stupid, pointless vows were being read out. What was this judge trying to do, bore him to death?! He didn't have the patience for this! All had gone to plan, the preparations, the co-ordination of his dim-witted troupe, Violet's- he found himself growing hot at the thought- appearance had turned out more than perfect... All he wanted- nay! Needed! Was to disappear from here, far into the night with _his_ bride and _his_ fortune. Life couldn't get any better!

_ But what about the other two brats? _

Olaf frowned at the little, yet handsome and charming and sexy voice of his own in his mind. What indeed was to happen to the other two?

Murder…?

_ No, Violet'd never forgive me. She would be put off by me. May not be willing…_

Adoption…?

_ No, they'd wiggle their way back into contact with Violet and she'd betray him after hearing the snivelling exaggerations they'd tell her of their whereabouts._

Olaf frowned in frustration, they really were a pesky set of orphans! He'd never thought it'd be this befuddling to keep one and lose two forever so they'd never, ever intrude AGAIN.

_ But do not forget!__ Other preparations are hand, my dear friend! _The voice enlightened, distracting him from his problem, _The troupe have set the wedding den ready! It is far from the city! Far from the brats and anyone willing to help them! Yes… you give the time, I give the place, my friend, the shall be night will be long and worthy…_

Olaf, too wrapped up in his thoughts- the conversation with himself, so to speak- gave a wicked chuckle under his breath, yet in his mind it was a full-on, haunting, daunting, echoing evil laugh that'd wake Shakespeare and his baddies from their graves and have them worshipping him on their knees.

Olaf blinked.

_ Focus!_

…But he couldn't help but notice, from the corner of his eye, Violets pale, delicate neck. He tried to avert his eyes and get a grip of himself, but in his mind he was already whispering dirty nothings to her, snaking his hands around her waist, hearing her frail gasp as the silky wedding dress magically slipped to the floor with a heavenly rustle, revealing… black… lacy… lingerie…

"Count Olaf?"

A harsh whisper of an extra woke him. He blinked furiously several times, the fantasy was wiped from his mind. He found himself staring right at Justice Strauss. She looked concerned. Stupidly concerned, as if he were about to fall ill… Impetuous, old bag!

_ Recover_, the voice shouted in his mind, _quick!_

He, as an amazing professional actor, was prepared for such self-slip-ups. He gave a false choke back of tears and swivelled to faced the audience. "I'm sorry, Justice Strauss," He whined wiping crocodile tears from his cheeks and sticking out his bottom lip like a sulking child. "This… is…just too emotional for me!" He whipped out a cotton hankie from his suit and gave his nose the most comedic yet convincing blow that could ever be performed… ever.

"Continue, your greatness!" He trilled, stuffing the handkerchief away again.

...After, hiding a most malicious smile with it, that is…

To Violet and Klaus, hearing Justice Strauss reading the wedding vows was like listening to a time-bomb ticking away. To Count Olaf it was like watching a fly buzz around the biggest most delicious cake you could imagine… once it was gone, it'd all be his. He'd gorge, from day, to day, to months, to years, until… until there was none left, until his last dying breath was one filled with that sweet sugary aroma of his long-gone delicacy.

Up in the tower, Sunny's cage swung lazily in the dying daylight. _To and fro, to and fro_. She could hear the commotion of the "wedding" but the language was too complex to translate to baby. She could almost smell the fear of her siblings and wished, oh how she wished she could help. She looked upon the face of the full moon in the bruised sky and a solitary tear rolled down her cheek as she wished she could bend the bars our of shape like Tarzan and climb to the aid of Violet and Klaus. She looked upon her plump, miniature hands and choked a bitter sob as she wished she could find a telephone somewhere in the house, with numbers and functions which she understood, and call the authorities to lock Count Olaf in the dark forever and ever. She wished, looking upon the pale orb once again, that she had been born as smart as her siblings. They were in danger and the only one who could help couldn't because she was noting but a mere baby. A pumpkin-headed brat with teeth not even sharp enough bend the bars of her own prison.

She began to wail loudly, not caring who heard her, as she wished they were home.

_Happy and safe_.

--

Once all the vows were over and done with there was the signing. The document stuff. Olaf felt himself growing impatient. The Goddamn vows took long enough! Now there was this nonsense! It was as if the true meaning of marriage was how many obstacles could be faced until you went cuckoo with sexual frustration… and there was a lot of that right about now! With such a beautiful girl with her back pressed onto you, what could be done to stop getting excited? He'd tell you what, _nothing_.

Her mere closeness made him hard. It was only because he had her wrist under a tight grip too… The force he held her with made her shake sometimes, sending a wave of desire flowing through him as well... He bet she liked it rough, he thought licking his lips and resisting moaning as he stiffened further. He would honestly lose his mind if he had to wait any longer! He'd simply just push her down and take her there on the stage if this didn't quicken up! He was sure the audience wouldn't mind… Adult theatre; it could improve the ticket sales in the future. Violet would be the star of every show of course. If she wanted to be or not.

When he was called up, he reluctantly released Violet's wrist and strode over to the podium with a charming smile directed to the audience. He let his eyes flicker over the paper- there was no need- he'd been staring at the damn thing all morning while his troupe rushed to and fro placing out chairs and sweeping the stage for a millionth time, only because he'd told them to, mind.

The pen hovered above the line, and a thought struck him. Slowly, slowly, he turned his lowered head sideways and glared directly into Violet's terrified doe eyes. With the most horrible, lusty grin he could muster he licked his lips, bit the bottom one and then mouthed at her: _All mine now._

He signed the document.

Violets turn.

--

Shakily, she stepped up to the podium, past the slightly rustling back-sheet of the stage, her eyes brimming with oceans of tears. The tears of defeat, the tears at the thought of the most unpleasant future with this man. She blinked and looked upon the document, her eyes skimming every word, but it was no use, she had no way with words, that was her brothers gift, there'd be no loophole here anyway, Olaf had made sure of that. A thought suddenly struck her. Using her _left_ hand she drew the pen, as a cowboy would prepare for a duel. There was a way out of this! There was a God! There was hope! She was going to-

"Right. hand. please." Olaf's strict voice cut across her ecstasy like musty curtains shutting out the first rays of the most glorious morning.

Violet felt a burning shame run across her cheeks. She'd been found. There was no hope after all. Maybe this was fate. This is what she would have to face for the rest of her life. Life is cruel, so they say, and maybe there was no point in acting a spoilt brat about it. That's what Olaf had called her the once, a spoilt brat. A filthy orphan with no lucky chance and no easy way out. If this was the way to go, then she'd have to go that way. She couldn't stand here forever… perhaps, just perhaps, there was hope after this night. Perhaps she'd have her lucky streak in just a few months, days, minutes…

_She doubted that greatly_.

With a heavy sigh, she lowered her gaze from the glowing moon, switched the pen to her tight hand and signed the document.

_ Violet Baudelaire_

--

The ink had barely set by the time Olaf snatched up the paper and brandished it to the eyes of the awe-struck audience.

"There you have it ladies and gentlemen! A tale of love! Truth! Happiness! Beauty!-" His eyes flicked to Violet and back to the audience as he gestured to _himself_ "which leaves me and my bride to a very happy ending and to yourselves-" he gestured out to the hundreds of filled chairs "a very good night!"

Clapping, whistling, whooping, screaming, laughing, happy sobs and gasps was all Violet heard as the curtain fell, velvet sheets of crimson to welcome her to her new future. She didn't realise that Count Olaf had stepped back to her side, but that's not what interested her, Klaus was running to her, oddly enough he was smiling. She cast a quick glance back at Olaf who was a few feet away surrounded by the extras who'd did nothing but stand and watch throughout, congratulating him of his how well his wicked deed had been pulled off. He didn't even look once at Violet. She rushed towards Klaus. Her stomach fluttering and heavy.

"Klaus this is terrible! What are we going to do?!" She gasped, her heart pounding like a chiming church bell. Klaus still seemed to be beaming and did so as he explained, making her turn away from Olaf and his troupe as he did so. Olaf had many talents, lip-reading could have possibly been one.

"Don't worry! I've got this sorted! As you signed, I stole away! Nobody noticed me! I went backstage! Totally deserted! I found a telephone! I called for help!" Violets heart did a back flip and she went slightly light-headed. It all fit now, the back sheet of the stage had been rustling as she'd stepped up! It was Klaus! He'd rescued all of them!

"What did you tell the authorities?"

"Said there was a scandal being held backstage, kidnap, assault and that stolen goods were being kept here and I also said it was a horrible play, they said that they'd be right o-"

Klaus' face went slack. He went as white as a sheet in a matter of seconds. He wasn't looking at Violet anymore, he was looking behind her. Feeling sick, she slowly turned around to find Count Olaf standing over them looking livid. Violet had never been so scared in her entire life.

"So… the bookworm decides to steal my thunder, does he?" Olaf snarled at Klaus and grabbing Violets wrist in a vice-like grip once again making her gasp sharply. He began to advance towards Klaus panting every word furiously as he went. "_Do. You. Know. How. Long. This. Took. To. ARRANGE_?!" The was a sharp smack and Olaf's fist caught Klaus sending him sprawling to the floor. Blood pouring from his nostrils, his eyes wide in sheer shock and terror. Violet began to scream and struggle against him. Hurling as much abuse as she knew. But to make things worse, he grabbed her other wrist and pulled her in close.

"What are _you _going to do about it, girl?" He spat, his hawk-like eyes boring into hers mercilessly, making himself difficult to avoid. She struggled still, but to no avail, he yanked her in towards himself and she could feel him hot and hard against the bottom of her stomach, where other things began… she suddenly felt unbelievably sick.

Still holding her against him, he turned his head and barked at his troupe who stood staring in complete and utter shock, "Go! Get the car! Get the baby! Get the boy and here and prepare to go! The police are coming! NOW!" Her roared when they continued to stare.

At this, they jumped into life running to and fro doing all they could to please the Count. A troupe member dressed in a musty overcoat with greay blonde-hair that stuck to his face ripped Klaus from the blood soaked floor and took Count Olaf's order of, "Take him far away, as far away as you can take the baby too. There, finish them. Finish them good and proper." Klaus looked as if he'd been shot rather than punched now. Violet began to scream, kick, cry but this wouldn't save her siblings' life. Nothing could now. She felt it was all her fault. He'd tried to save her and now had to give his life because he'd simply tired to do that. That was love. A love which she'd never feel again.

Klaus was dragged away at Olaf's final order. Violet out let the most bloodcurdling scream of despair. He couldn't do this! But he was! Her brother was being taken to die, her baby sister also, a tiny child who nothing pleasant of life. She knew nothing at all but misery and misfortune and now it's what she'd face until she died.

Sobbing and cursing at Olaf, she gave a gigantic tug out of his grip and sprawled as Klaus has as she caught her brothers last glance at her until he was pulled out of the red stage curtain and out of sight. The seating area was empty now. No one could help them. This was well and truly the final curtain. Violet sat wailing and crying on the wooden stage floor, no one but her husband for company. He was looking down at her, a slight hurt and fear in his eyes to see her such a state.

"Now, now, now. No need to kick up such a fuss," he simpered advancing towards her, "they would have only got in the way… It was a mercy killing."

Violets heart almost stopped in her throat.

"You disgust me. You sick _bastard_!" Without really instructing herself to, she had kicked out at him and she hit him square in the knee making roar in anger and pain. He fell to his knees and used this opportunity to launch himself at her.

"I was going to do this nicely! I was going to treat you like a Goddamn queen!" He panted furiously. He'd now grabbed both her wrists, pushing her onto her back and he slid forwards, so that he was straddling her waist, stopping her from getting up.

"But you know what?" He spat, grinning wickedly down at her, "To hell with that! You're _my_ wife! I can have you whenever you want, however I want, whether you like it or not!"

To really ice the cake he lowered himself and slowly licked from the base of her neck and up to the top of her cheek, where his hot saliva mixed with her falling tears. "_You're my wife now_." He hissed in her ear. "_You're my countess." _He repeated the act making her writhe and shiver as she felt an unrestrained hot flush run through her, making her groan involuntary. "_How'd you like that my filthy little whore? You haven't seen NOTHING yet…"_

His hands released her wrists, knowing she couldn't fight back due to shock and the energy she lacked from exhaustion.His hands slid down the bodice of the dress, caressing the bumps of her breasts. His eyes shone like the very embers of hell. He was licking his lips once again. His hands slowly slid lower…

"Boss!"

Olaf's head snapped up. The Hook-Handed man stood in the entrance from the left wing, he looked flustered, panicked. "It's the police! They're coming! We need to get out of here! Pronto! To the car!" With a furious grunt, Olaf sprung to his feet, pulling Violet up by her wrist with him. This time, his grip was too strong to break from, she was too weak from crying. He began to run and with no choice, Violet began to run through the dark, deserted backstage marquees with him, into the night.

--

Sunny and Klaus sat curled together in the back of the car. The heat from each other the only heat they had at all as a final motherly comfort before they faced what they had to. There way no way out now.

Sunny didn't understand what was going to happen. She wouldn't until she faced it. And Klaus decided he'd rather not tell her. He'd let her imagination help her through this. He'd rather not scare her anyway, even though his own eyes were filled with bitter tears as he looked up at the full moon in the sapphire night sky to focus his thoughts and calm his nerves. He thought of his sister and where she was now. His soul cried out for her. In a way, Sunny and himself were lucky, death was the way out. The last bow, the close of the red curtain. Living on was the worst thing that could happen to them, without Violet, the separation would just be too much, and surviving in the middle of nowhere wouldn't be kind to them.

As a tear rolled down his cheek, he felt a sense of pride well up inside of him. He'd saved his sister. If once, just once, luck smiled down on the Baudelaire orphans, luck would smile upon Violet and the police would capture Count Olaf. They'd lock him away, melt the key into mere liquid and use it to block the keyhole forever and ever.

With the gift of giving his life, Klaus may have just granted his sister her first taste of freedom since their parents had died and the world had turned against them.

As he stroked Sunny's soft hair he thought of how Violet would possibly spend her new found future in happiness. She'd buy a house with the generous fortune left behind in their parents will, she'd find a husband and have children with marvellous talents of their own, she'd get a magnificent career in inventions and perhaps start a business to live on once she'd died a peaceful death in her old age. Nonetheless, his sacrifice was the most bravest thing he could do to give his sister just a chance. If she'd been a little older to understand, perhaps Sunny would feel that way too.

The car trundled on into the night, into the dusty, empty plains of nowhere. A place where no one could hear him sigh, the tears doubling and rolling freely down his bloody cheeks…

_ Perhaps…_


	5. A Rotten Reception

**Chapter 5: Rotten Reception.**

**Phew! What a long chapter! My longest so far? Who knows…**

**Anyway, the celebration continues!**

**(and No Olaf and his troupe are NOT cannibals)**

**Characters don't belong to me. They belong to Lemony Snicket.**

**Sadly… ****L**

**Enjoy!**

**--**

_Laughter._

_Dizzying!_

_Sickening!_

_Triumphant!_

Evil laugher was all Violet faced at the hideaway" far from the city streets. It was a dreadful contrast to the thick, sleepy silence that had lingered in the car for the entire journey. In a way, that had been slightly soothing. It gave her time to reflect on the heartbreaking events that had only just happened. She was almost slipping into a soft, light state of sleep, as the midnight scenery had sped past the window… but one thing stopped her from closing her exhausted eyes…

_Him._

Olaf was sat in the seat next to her. A crate of dusty wine bottles, yet to be opened as celebration, sat between them. Physical contact seemed out of the window, thankfully, but that'd never stop him from watching. And he had. Violet was unable to see his face in the darkness. However, this was no advantage… The moonlight caught in his eyes, and reflected from them, making his glare seem devilish, shimmering and truly haunting. Violet felt her shudder and turn away to stare at the deserted wasteland they seemed to be passing, but even in the glass she could see him in the glass' reflection… His eyes eerie white orbs staring right into her own eyes, his face painted like Jester's- he was watching her unblinkingly, wearing a large, perverted, grotesque smile. She kept her back to him but lowered her eyes to the pitch black bottom of the car, and still _knew _that he was staring at her. It made her itchy, paranoid, afraid… Whatever he was doing in his head, seemed to involve her and it seemed to make him smile. Violet didn't like that.

She felt a rush of heat run up her thighs when she thought back to when he had straddled her, the fact she felt tingly about it confused her. She'd never had that before but she felt she'd never confess it to her captor… Her _husband_, that he had excited her, made her feel dirty… almost made her moan his name as loud as she could. But she hated him. Hated him. Why? Why? Why had her body primitively enjoyed the torment of her most loathed enemy? Her eyes flicked back to those glittering orbs. If he had shown his teeth in a smile, you probably would have seen them shining too- white, glistening razor-sharp fangs in the darkness, like the smile of a malicious Cheshire cat._ He wants me to enjoy it_. She realised with a suppressed shiver. _He has all the fun he can when he touches me, kisses _me - the rushing heat passed over her again, she bit her lip and blushed, turning away further from him -_but when I enjoy it, he enjoys it more_…

Violet felt a wave of fear wash over her heart. But her thighs thought otherwise, burning hotly and begging her to reminisce of the way he had licked her neck. In slow motion… She had to bite her lip and grip the car seat again.

_Surely the door had a handle?_

She looked down, for some sort of lever to open the door and let her out. If she had to drop out of the fast-moving car onto the hard, cold white sand onto rocks imbedded deep within, then so be it. She couldn't stay here. She didn't want to have to face the consequences when there _wasn't_ a crate between them… The words of his on-stage poem, crept along the back of her mind again, making her shiver-

"_Just wait until there is no more wine,_

_And I'll prove to her she's no-ones but mine…"_

Violet did _not_ want to be around to face that situation. Carefully and silently she squinted in the darkness at the black inside of the door but it didn't necessarily help. She had no other choice but to raise her pale, trembling hand and carefully caress the inside of the door… to find there was no handle to allow those inside, out of the car. She lowered her hand slowly and sat back in her seat once again in defeat, watching the empty, deserted scenery pass her window for the rest of the journey.

The white orbs of Count Olafs eyes still reflecting in the glass.

--

They had arrived at the house, no less than an hour later. As she'd discovered the door could only be opened from the outside. The driver of the car - the wart-faced man - had clambered out on Olaf's order and opened the creaky, rusting door wide open. Violet stared at the dusty, rocky ground on which the greying house sat. She didn't know what to do. There was no chance of making a run from them both, they were in the middle of nowhere! Besides, she had her weary, exhausted legs and they had a car- she had no other choice but to sit and stare out into the darkened wilderness. It felt like it had been hours of simply gazing, but in reality had been mere seconds in which Olaf got out of his side of the car, shoved the crate of wine bottles into the arms of the wart-faced man and lowered his face in her unfocused line of vision.

"The view is actually better if you get _out_ of the car." He chuckled, taking her pale, delicate wrist in his hot, grubby hands and pulling her out of the car. The cold air of the night almost made Violets heart stop- for a second she well and truly wished it had and she wouldn't have to face anymore, but with a curt nod to the wart faced man, the door was ordered shut behind her and she was walked up the steps- arm in arm to her new-found home, with her new found husband… Count Olaf.

They had stumbled in from the cold night onto a cold, tense scene. The troupe were sat around in dishevelled armchairs and sofas in silence, looking slightly worried at the whereabouts of their leading role. But upon their entrance the room erupted; the white-faced women threw themselves at Olaf, who was almost knocked backwards. The hook handed man was grinning insanely, tapping his hooks together as a form of applause, the bald headed man burst into happy and noisy tears and the thing that resembled neither man nor woman stood and stared with that same old glazed over expression at Olaf, not moving nor speaking. The main source of noise was the squealing women, the blubbing co-hort and clinking of hooks being tapped furiously together.

As the women had launched themselves forward, Violet had took an instinctive step backwards, in a way, relieved that his attention had been moved onto the squawking women who were sandwiching him in what appeared to be the worlds tightest hug.

"Ladies, Ladies…" He ordered, chuckling yet with a stern tone "I'm afraid the old days are over. Now, I have…"- there was a huge dramatic pause as he turned towards the shut front door to face her- "Violet…" He said her name in a husky whisper, as though he were advertising a new, exotic perfume to his troupe instead of his wife.

Their gazes all followed his outstretched arms to look at her in wonderment. In the utter disbelief of having pulled off their most biggest and dangerous plan. Violet, was the very result of their success. She was the prize… well, technically, the fortune was the prize to them, but without Violet, there was no money. But she was here, breathing and living. A wedding-dress wearing, exhausted, emotionally-tethered monkey for the excited, devious, money-craving organ grinders.

"Right, best welcome our newcomer warmly." He ordered sharply. He pointed directly at the two white-faced women with a thin, yet strong, grubby finger of his. "You two!" Prepare to serve the roast beef and-" He turned to face the wart-faced man who stepped forward and placed the crate of dusty bottles into the arms of one of the women- "begin to pour the wine. A glass for each of us. Although," He paused with a devious smile, "my bride and I shall have as much as we like…"

"B-But I- I don't…" Violet began helplessly. But Olaf clicked his fingers sharply to silence her. She knew there was no way she was having her own way now. She was to drink, even if they had to pin her down and pour it down her throat.

The white-faced women looked completely shocked.

"B-but Olaf!" One of them gasped, her face paler that usual. "We don't cook! We don't serve food! We don't serve wine! You've got the brat! Make _her_ do it!" Her voice had become shrill at this point with hysteria, Violet had to squint against it.

But having Olaf's back to her seemed to be an advantage at this, point. She watched, the hairs on the back of her neck rising as she watched the woman's face react to Olaf's own expression in complete horror. Violet could just imagine it now- darkening in rage, his teeth bared like a rabid dog his shiny eyes flashing dangerously. Before another word was said, Olaf had snatched up a bottle by it's neck from the crate that the other woman held and brought it above her companions head with a ferocious roar. Violet's heart almost burst from her chest in fear as he brought it down _withatremendousforcethatwasgoingtogivethewomansucha_-

"STOP!" Violet screamed.

Olaf jumped, not expecting his fragile, little countess to make such an action against him, he dropped the bottle as if he were electrocuted. It fell, missed the white faced woman and landed unbroken onto the rug beneath them with a soft "clunk" and rolled back and forth, concussed before lying still. Olaf turned to Violet. They were _all_ looking at her once again. Even the white faced women. They looked so pale, they looked the dead returned to life! Olaf looked as if he'd been slapped- more shocked than enraged now. Violet felt herself begin to tremble within the dusty cocoon of her stage wedding dress. Was it her turn to be punished? Was the bottle to be brought down upon her head? Was she to be violated once again, as she had been on the stage? …She was soon to find out.

There was a thick, choking silence amongst the odd scene. She'd brought it, so she had to rid them of it now…

"I'll do it." Violet mumbled. Before attempting to make her way towards where she thought the kitchen was- the left hand door at the far end of the room. But Olaf had no intention of letting her do so. He grabbed her by the arm, she gasped at his cold touch as he firmly kept in the spot where she stood. He stared at her, hard and unblinking, she could see her own terrified reflection in those endless pupils of his.

She felt like an eternity had passed when he turned around to the remainder of the troupe. (The white-faced women had sidled backwards from him in fear, still clutching the crate like a newborn.) From the relief that suddenly showed on the troupes unusual variety of faces, it was apparent to Violet that Olaf was smiling… and then she heard it. A husky, rasp giggle at first then growing into sharp, painful barks- Olaf was laughing. The troupe began to laugh with him, shy, reluctant chuckles at first that mutated into roars and screeches of endless, dizzying, sickening laughter. Violet felt herself blush, she was offering to do a favour as a "wife" and they'd all taken her as a joke.

Olaf coughed slightly as he controlled himself a minute later and waved his free hand at the others in a signal for them to shut up too. He turned back to Violet, his joker face back again- a big devious smile, his eyes glinting like dangling knives.

"You're a card, countess. But this is _your_ night…" His smile widened, revealing yellow, uneven teeth. "_Our_ night," He corrected with a stomach-turning wink. "I know for a fact that you're too tired and far too famous now for doing such uninteresting things! Besides…" His voice hushed into a filthy whisper. "I want to keep my eye on you." He straightened up again and turned to the troupe, commanding them to do various jobs such as laying the table, lighting candles, assembling the chairs from around the house to line the dinner table.

As he did so, Violet looked away from the hand that still kept hold of her upper arm. As the old house had had, this house was also decorated with an ugly array of eyes. Fixed to walls, etched into floorboard panels, painted on door knobs, ripped into the sofas and armchairs. Violet felt the familiar, yet as always, nauseating feeling of being watched, just as intimidating as been glared at on the way here. She felt her stomach sink with despair as she thought- Would she ever escape these malicious, perverted glares…?

She turned back to the bustling scene, the White faced women had been sent off the to the kitchen- which _had_ been the left hand door at the end of the room. Their heads were hanging in shame, their feet shuffling in obedience. It occurred to her, that, as she'd looked away, Olaf had gave them a piece of his mind, quietly too, as not to frighten Violet any further.

_Considerate_, Violet thought. _But leaving the room would have been my only freedom right now. _She didn't say that to him, of course… All she did was slowly look up into the shiny, smiling eyes that were already looking down on her. She looked away, feeling herself cringe away. She stared down at the floorboards, feeling sick and scared. But he removed his dirty fingers from her pale, bare arm and linked that arm with his, flashing her a revolting smirk as he did so, before walking her through a set of old, dark, double doors into a large, cold dining room, recently candlelit to disguise the grubby walls and dusty, grimy floorboards. But as Violet was sat at the head of the table, right beside the count himself, she folded her arms across her chest, not fooled at the pathetic attempt to relax her and welcome her to her new home.

She'd never be fooled. No matter how long she was trapped here.

--

_Oh, God, no…_

Violet sank back in her chair. Feeling weak and dizzy from the thick, sour cloying wine that poisoned her once-clean veins.

The meal had been abysmal and all throughout Olaf had _encouraged_ her to drink the foul out-of-date booze. His hand quickly reaching for his dinner knife every time she attempted to refuse. He was forcing her to drink by using violence. Wonderful. It was apparent, along with the others at this disgusting excuse for a meal, that Olaf was drunk, and dangerously drunk at that. Violet didn't like it. She hated how the room span no matter how much she willed it to stop and how these thugs chattered endlessly; pathetic nobodies, with no decent purpose in life than to pull others into this sea of misery as a job than doing ordinary, yet more rewarding things. She squinted at the Hook-handed man through the suddenly blinding candlelight. _He could do more valuable things with his life! His hooks could be HANDY for other things_, She giggled weakly at her own pun, _yes, other things like taking displaying hats outside tailors or handing over purchases at a fish market! He'd be good at that! Very, very, goooood…_

Violet blinked. She wasn't drunk, she wasn't vulnerable... No one was, yet. The meal hadn't even begun, she'd just slipped into a horrific daydream as the rest of the table tucked into their serving of roast beef and took greedy sips from their first and only glass of wine.

Violet looked down upon her own plate. A few slices of roast beef were lying in the candlelight, their juices making them glisten and shimmer at her. Violet squinted and tried to drown out the noisy chewing and the smacking of lips and the mashing of food being chewed with mouths open. She stared hard at the beef, trying to make the disgusting, nightmarish scene dissolve around her.

But it wouldn't.

Violet's stomach turned again, when she saw that the thick slices of meat, from the angle she was looking from, looked like a heart… _A human heart_. She closed her eyes and turned her head away, restraining herself from heaving. _It's only roast beef, _she told herself, _you're delirious from everything that's happened today and you're, hallucinating! There's nothing wrong! Nothing! It's just beef! It's just beef! It's just-_

"Something wrong?" Olafs sharp, stern whisper forced her eyes to fly open, the panicked voice in her head stopped, as if suddenly killed by the mere invasion of him in her personal space. She turned her head towards him and found those shiny, shiny eyes staring into hers, as if already undressing her violently in his mind…

_Perhaps he already was_. Violet repressed a disgusted shudder. She blinked and lowered her head downwards back towards her meal in submission. She also muttered a "No, nothing." to answer his question. The sooner his attention was averted, the better.

"Then, _eat_…" He whispered down her neck, giving her icy chills down her spine. He wore a small, secret smile as if he knew something she didn't. She took a gentle bite and the warmth washed over her- not too bad. She suddenly felt how hungry she actually was. She knew that hunger was something she would not resist tonight, she needed energy. Energy to think, energy to plan an escape, energy to save herself. "_You're going to need your energy_…" He whispered, his free arm around her, his cold, thin, spidery fingers caressing her pale shoulder. Making her freeze up and swallow her mouthful in shock. He dropped his arm away as quickly as it had moved up there, he resumed his meal, a smug smirk on his face.

But suddenly an annoyance that he only just noticed hit him. He turned to her, snatched up her glass and forced it into her free hand that lay lifeless and pale upon the table, wide-eyed in fear, she took the stem of the glass in her delicate fingers and gripped it _very_ tightly.

"_And drink your Godamn wine_!" He hissed, his free hand reaching swiftly for the dinner knife that lay glistening on his plate…

In case she got funny and tried to reject it.

_Just in case. _

_--_

Reviews pleeeeeassse: Cheers! xxx


	6. But what of the siblings?

**Chapter 6: But what of Klaus and Sunny?**

_Okay, just thought I'd say now. This isn't a chapter involving our two "lovebirds" (ooh, that was cruel!)_

_But I just thought I'd like to patch things up with the two other siblings. Because in chapter 5, I put "backfiring gunshots" and I thought I'd make something of that._

_So please, no smut or naughtiness here, just intense action and an open ending._

_Read on and please review._

_--_

As Violet had been thirty minutes into her journey. Klaus' heart pounded so hard he could barely hear his own fearful thoughts. He and Sunny were out on the plain in the middle of some sort of empty desert. The moon shone fully, fat and round, lighting the scene before him. The bald headed man stood three metres ahead, facing them. He was loading a revolver with a sick smirk on his face. Sunny had begun to whimper and had clung to Klaus' shaking knee. Yet, Klaus stood bold. Little did she, or the Bald Headed man, know he had a plan. A plan that may just save them both…

Whilst the Bald Headed man stood with his head down, Klaus reached into his pocket and pulled out his find.

_ A fully loaded revolver._

It had been underneath the passengers seat. Klaus had only noticed it because it had been tapping at his foot for the entire twenty minute journey. This was his answer. His saviour. His solution. Klaus had never held a gun, but it made him feel superior, powerful, Godly. He was going to get payback for taking him away from his sister. Killing the Bald Headed man would be a wound to Olaf's power. If he could take out one. He could take out them all… He pointed it at the bald head, that was still lowered towards, while the thick hands fiddled, slotting the bullets into their chambers.

"Go ahead and shoot me." Klaus stated in the coolest, calmest, yet most stern voice he could muster. Sunny gurgled in relief and pride as she looked up at her heroic brother. She would be spared. He would make sure of that. Even if he wasn't successful and bled to death.

The Bald Headed mans head, slowly lifted to look at Klaus. His eyes widened in horror at the gun aimed directly between them. Klaus took a brave few paces forward, still aiming and repressing his arms from shaking. Staring unblinkingly into the Bald Headed mans eyes. Straight faced, and for once in his life, cold-hearted.

"You can't do this!" The Bald Headed man hissed, as Klaus took another few paces forward, Sunny trailing behind him carefully. The villain went to take some steps back in order to regain personal space and power, but his feet failed him and to the hard, cold, dusty ground he fell. Klaus smirked. His finger lay on the trigger, but he knew in his head that he would never kill the Bald Headed Man. Killing would make him one of them. And he'd rather die than be a villain himself. Instead, he was going for the scaring technique.

"You stupid BRAT!" the Bald headed man roared, whipping up his gun so it was pointed at the boys head. They were in a tight situation now. Gun to head, first to shoot was the second to die. This was going to be tough. Klaus had never suspected this to happen. "Give it up kid. I'll be quicker than you. You know that. Your struggle will be pointless. Who's to say you're stronger than me? Faster? or smarter? Why be the tricky customer, boy? Take it and have it over with. You know full well that-"

Out of nowhere, Sunny leapt towards the gun pointed at Klaus by the dastardly man. With all her might she knocked it from his hand by shoving it with her small shoulder.

_ BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!_

The gun somehow bounced of the jagged rocks protruding from the white, sandy ground. Each and every rock setting it off every time. It then eventually lay still in the moonlight, the trigger reflecting the great orbs eerie glow. They all stared at it, only just registering the reaction the gun had had to hitting the ground. The bald Headed man went to crawl towards it, but Klaus thrust the gun so it was pressing into his skull. He was in charge now. Villains being powerful was complete and utter nonsense to Klaus. Goodies could brandish guns just as well, and that was damn well what Klaus was going to do.

"You have two options," Klaus snarled, enjoying the power he had over this fool. "You either get out of here. Out of this town! This state" This country! Or me and Sunny here" - He referred his younger sister into the power now she had snatched up the abandoned gun that had only been lying a couple of metres away and pointed it at the bald Headed mans chest. "Will make you wish you'd chose option one." The Bald Headed man looked completely gob smacked. He opened and closed his mouth repeatedly like a goldfish from water. He'd lost all power now. He'd finally met his match- a weedy bookworm and a pumpkin headed baby. The following seconds were so tense you could have dropped a pin and ruined the whole scene with the racket it would have made. With the gun nozzles still following him, the Bald Headed man looked up into Klaus' eyes, his own were brimming with tears. He began to gurgle and snuffle against bursting into frantic, desperate, frightened wails. Yet Klaus would not be swayed. He butted the gun into the blubbering mans skull.

"What's your choice?" Klaus spat. Hoping he wouldn't give up and ask to be killed. Klaus wouldn't do that. He couldn't. That'd be sinking to the Villains level.

"I-I-I'll g-g-go-ooh-oh-oh-oh-oh!" He cried dramatically, rattling the quiet sky of stars. With the gun still pressed to his head, Klaus grabbed his shoulder and hoisted him up and led him towards the car. Sunny pursued them both. Klaus wretched open the door and shoved the snivelling man into the drivers side and slammed it shut. He lowered the gun to the Bald Headed mans chest.

"Get out of here. Go far, far away. You can make so much more out of your life, and I strongly suggest you do. Me and Sunny are going to find this hideout and we're going to save my sister. No matter how far away it is. No matter what it takes." During this speech the Bald headed Man had been sniffing and spluttering into the steering wheel, but as Klaus reached the end he had slowly sat up, and turned towards him, wearing a sickly, evil smile.

"I don't think so." He hissed. As quick as a flash, he fired a tremendous punch into Klaus' stomach through the open window. Knocking him unconscious onto the sandy ground. Sunny leapt into action, aimed the gun and put three of her tiny fingers onto the trigger, and pulled-

_Click… Click, click, click._

The Bald Headed man gave a loud bark of cruel laughter. As Sunny snatched up Klaus' gun and tried that too. But it did just as much clicking, and no "Blam's". They'd lost. "You should never mess with an actor, kiddies," He snarled from the open car window above them, his grubby yellow smile being exaggerated by the bright moonlight. "You'll never win. No matter how far you walk, you'll never find your sister! She's Olaf's property now anyway, so I'd give up now!" Klaus was to, and was less dizzy now. This was the part of the Bald-Headed mans speech that angered him the most.

"Never! We're… we're… going to… f-find her!" He croaked against his pounding head and stinging stomach. "We… w-w-will!" The bald headed man gave another roar of sickening laughter.

"Try all you can! It'll take me half an hour to get there before Olaf! And that's only because A, I have this car! And, B, I know my way… As for you two… You'll never make it. You're just little CHILDREN!" He spat the last word and sped away like a flash, his harsh cackling echoing even when he was a mere speck in the distance. Klaus sighed and hoisted himself up. Slowly, wincing when he moved to fast. His sister standing beside him- only coming up to shoulder height in his sitting position.

"Ahbaa coh?" She asked timidly, patting him on the shoulder for encouragement.

"Of course we'll have a go. Violet needs us. We will find her! No matter what that _bastard _says! And if we don't… well, damnit, we tried. We tried our best…"

He looked up into the eyes of his baby sister. They were shining with tears. Of what emotion? He couldn't tell. Anger? Regret? Bitterness? Doubt? Or perhaps pride, of having such a courageous brother? He'd like to think that, but he never was to know. He stood shakily and swept the dust from his sailor suit. It seemed a shame to think that this was the outfit his sister saw him in last. There was nothing he could do to change that, it was the future that was important. He looked down upon Sunny, who looked back up at him with a dependency to do the right thing. He was her carer now. She was his responsibility, as well as the rescue of Violet.

"Ready?" He asked the small girl at his side, who knew nothing of this world but misery and misfortune.

"Ahz ehpha!" She squealed with a giggle. She wriggled her little hand into his, and he was sparked with more fright, more responsibility. More hope.

"Let's go."

And that was the last ever recorded of Klaus and Sunny Baudelaire. Never did they arrive at the wedding den as promised to save the day. It is rumoured by may people that they died from exhaustion and hunger, lost in the sweltering hotness of the desert one summer afternoon, mere days after Sunny took his hand and they set off under the moonlight. Others say they were picked up by drivers from the another state, heading home, who adopted them into a new life, casting their minds away from the mission they established that night. Under the moon. The illuminated sapphire sky, which had set the whole desert into rich shade of blue. And that is how many reckon Klaus and Sunny should be remembered, no matter their location or demise; Setting off into the night, walking blindly into the middle of nowhere out of sheer bravery and love. In order to save Violet.

They Tried.

--

_Thanks for reading, chapter 7 to come soon! Oooh, I'm all of a shiver :D_

xx


	7. A Trip Upstairs

**Chapter 7: A trip upstairs.**

_Aloha._

_Happy New Year everyone!_

_2 new chapters in one go for ya!_

_Aren't you lucky:D_

_The characters don't belong to me... grump_

_They belong to Daniel Handler/lemony Snicket_

--

Violet woke slowly and groggily in her chair at the dining table. Her back and neck ached from the stiffness of the spindly chair. The table was empty. Plates and glasses had been taken away. The vacant seats had been tucked neatly under the hard dark table.

Dark.

No matter how much Violet blinked or tried to focus her drunken tired eyes, everything she could see was only in the hues of black and white. The walls had now become pinstripes that hurt eyes with the mixture of brightness and darkness. The wooden floor was a sea of black, illuminating her little white wedding shoes. She forced her chair back groggily, but there was no sound of it scraping. She slowly stood shakily. Her vision went blurred for a few seconds; the room appeared to be revolving slowly, due to whatever she'd drunk... _what had she drunk? _Violet's mind seared as she stood, grasping the table for support trying to cast her mind further and further back like a desperate fisherman. She remembered the wedding, she remembered Klaus' last try for escape, she remembered- her heart sunk miserably –him being caught and taken far away. She remembered kicking out and hitting Olaf's knee. She remembered-

He had almost fucked her.

She closed her eyes and grasped the table with two hands now, as another hot flush hit her. Her head sunk back, and as much as she tried, she couldn't suppress a luxurious, lusty- yet drunken –moan this time as her memories came back. His hands, his tongue, that glint in his eye that promised he'd have her. No matter what it took. Another one hit as she remembered feeling him big and stiff pressed against her stomach, ready... Ready for her. A constant want that'd he'd never give up on. She could imagine him here, his arms snaking around her waist, his hot breath on her neck, whispering dark, dirty nothings to her. She could imagine him fucking her good and proper on her table, holding her wrists down as he had before, grinning wickedly as she moaned and panted and squirmed in ecstasy, her cheeks flushed and sweaty... Her legs wrapping around his waist...

_ Stop it_, a sober side to her scolded her for such thoughts.

She understood how sex worked, she'd found herself more than- scratch that –_extremely_ curious and always had the temptation to experiment, to play, to have some dark and delicious fun. However, she'd never found someone to experiment with, someone who could play with her, other than herself. It was a side to her that she kept hidden all of the time but came out, in the dark, when she was alone. She was gagging for it and she was ashamed to accept it.

She snapped away from her thoughts like a lucky fly from a spider's web, as she smelt cooking... _Cooking? _But not just your average meal of Puttanesca or roast beef, no! It was sugary, sweet, cloying. It was the smell of baking cakes, gingerbread and cookie dough- but other scents became apparent- candies, runny smooth caramel, vanilla, plump cherries, milky butter cream, sticky, sugared popcorn, thick, dark slabs of chocolate, sweet yet spicy cinnamon, sweet peppermint, carnival cotton candy, fruity bubblegum, strawberry whips, toffee apples that were still moist and dripping...

It was the most scrumptious thing you've ever smelt. Believe me, reader, Violet was incredibly lucky to have smelt these treats. Such a scent has never been experienced again, so sadly, all we can do is imagine. Violet closed her eyes and felt her stomach rumble, perhaps she'd never ate that horrendous roast beef... perhaps there was a candy store nearby. Her drunken mind made up all sorts of scenarios and explanations for that mouth-watering aroma. She staggered against the slowly spinning room, forward, towards the dining room door, from which the sugary scent was coming from. Her white figure like a ghost against the black and white stripes of the walls. She stumbled slowly to the door and opened it.

The sticky, sugary, sweet, sickly scent hit her nostrils at a high speed as soon as she stepped into the main lounge. But she saw no source to the smell. This confused her, but what confused her more was the rearrangement of furniture. Someone had taken it to an extreme. The room had been literally turned upside down. The sofas were now sitting comfortably still on the ceiling above her. The light fixtures and rafters were at her feet, around her. The main dusty, old chandelier was stood upright a few feet away, still dangling as it had when it was facing downwards. It looked like the hair of an electrocution victim, standing straight and jangling in a draft every now and again. She walked, dumbfounded around the room, the windows and doors were too high up on the walls to see out of. The thick candy smell was making her dizzy but making mouth water longingly for just a single bite... However, her mind moved away from her stomach when she noticed one, single, flaw in the upside down room; there was one door which hadn't moved. It was on her level, she saw from the dark etching on the door and the incorrect spelling where it led: _Starez_.

_ Stairs_.

Violet felt a heavy wash of fatigue sweep over her at this single, etched word, if she could just find an old bed or a bathtub to sleep in; then perhaps she could awake early and undisturbed in the morning and run away. Far, far, away. – _the room was spinning_- And she'd be safe. And she'd be safe with Klaus and Sunny, and Olaf would go to jail, - _Spinning faster now_ -and so would his comrades- _she felt sick_- and she would- _closed her eyes_- _gobacktotouchingherselfandhavenoonetotrulyfuckeventhoughshe hadtheopportunityanddrunkenlywanteditobviously,sowhymissherchance-shewashisdirtywhoreandshe'dpassitallupfornothingagoooodhaaaardfuck._

_Stop._

Violet felt herself rolled up in a ball. _Fetal_. She didn't know where. And she didn't know how she'd got here. Her mind kept replaying the spinning striped walls of the lounge which had began to turn to running, oozing ink as the room span round and round, faster and faster. And how her mind had screamed deliriously obscenities, perhaps she'd screamed them out loud, but they seemed too explicit to her to even _whisper_. It was all too secret. Besides, she hated Olaf. That wasn't what she wanted.

_It wasn't. It wasn't. It wasn't._

At the moment, all she could see was the grimy material of her dress, as she lay still in a close huddle with herself. She didn't trust herself anymore. She didn't trust her drunken mind, she didn't trust her stumbling legs, she didn't trust her nose, or her stomach which made her follow the smell of candy in the first place, delicious, sweet, sticky, naughty, forbidden, sugary and scrumptious. She could smell it again. This time it was so near. It could have been right in front of her huddled little figure. And it was, but not in the form she'd believe it to be. She sat up, and opened her eyes. To find something which she'd never before seen in her entire life...

The stairwell. It was made solidly of _candy_.

A secret, guilty delight snuck in the shape of a smirk on her weary face. She stood and looked around her, not believing her eyes, stomach or nose at what she was seeing. The door and walls had all turned into gingerbread slabs, various places were iced with eyes made from various coloured frosting – she giggled, they looked less sinister when they were sugary and gooey. The floor was made from slabs of thick dark chocolate, smooth and hard, filling the air with its cloying, rich fragrance. The stair rail was a long peppermint candy cane, glistening and smooth. The sort you got at Christmas time. As for the steps themselves, they were made from thick, delicious-looking waffles. The smell in the room was _incredible. _The smirk had grown into a full blown grin now, even more so when she saw who was stood at the top of the stairs.

_Klaus and Sunny._

She rubbed her eyes and looked again, but they were there. They were both clutching large, colourful lollipops and smiling and waving at her, beckoning her to come and climb the stairs to them. She began to descend, never taking her eyes of her siblings, her heart was bursting with happiness and the thick aroma blanketed her safely, she crawled upwards to them, heart filled with joy. On the forth step, the waffle it was made from tore beneath her hand, revealing a hole... filled with sticky marshmallow in which her hand had gone in. She withdrew her hand with was now covered in sweet gooey goodness. She looked up them and they were laughing. She began to laugh too, the sound of their laughter in her ears and making her laugh. She knew they'd come to save her! She wearily continued to carefully climb. The caution in her crawl ensured it didn't break again, but on the sixth step, she heard music and had to stop.

_Circus music_.

The oomp-pa-pa of big brass instruments and the foreign cords of accordions and other instruments which she recognised in this genre rang out and echoed all around her. Her heart nearly over brimmed with joy, it brought back so many happy memories of when her parents were alive and they went to the big top. They saw elephants, and circus freaks and clowns...

She looked up at her siblings and they were dressed as clowns. They were dancing. Slow motion dancing, fooling around in happiness of her rescue. They wore matching white romper suits with orange bobbles all down the front... and big red clown shoes that dwarfed their feet. And make up... Klaus with a cheeky smile, a red slash of paint over his lips and cheeks. Sunny wore make-up perceiving mock-surprise. Violet began to laugh as she climbed. She laughed, screamed, howled at her siblings carelessly joking about in the house of the wicked old fiend! She chortled, she giggled, she guffawed, she tittered, and she chuckled and wheezed until the tears rolled down her face. All the while the stairway up which she was crawling was growing. Growing. Growing. Growing. Her siblings getting further away. But Violet didn't notice. She was with her brother and sister and this time they were getting out alive, for the last time.

The waffle texture of the stairs was getting thinner and weaker with every step upwards, her hands, knees and wedding dress were coated in syrup and sugar, but she kept going desperate to be with Klaus and sunny. She looked up to see them from the near bottom of what appeared to be an immensely long staircase. They weren't in clown suits anymore. They weren't in a joking mood either. Instead, they had been wrapped in layers of cotton candy that bound their arms to their sides. A giant, heated furnace roared with flames behind them and their captor.

A hunchback witch. Withered, hook-nosed, warty and ugly... And she had them by the throats.

It took a few seconds for Violet to alter this. But an instinct reminded her of childhood memories, of the tale of Hansel and Gretel and how she wouldn't be going home with them if she left them to the mercy of the witch. She took no chances and got to her feet, she pounded up the staircase, every step breaking the waffle foundation, but it was no use, Klaus, Sunny and their captor were just getting further and further away... The circus music had gotten ear-splittingly loud, the stench of candy made her dizzy and nauseous. With her eyes on her brother and sister, Violet couldn't see where she was stepping...

She tripped, she fell, and she began to helplessly sink in an unseen marshmallow pit. This had been made from the tearing and destruction of several steps at once. She began to wriggle, kick and fight but she was getting sucked under slowly whether she wanted to be or not. She tried to grasp onto the candy cane rail, but it was getting further away as she was dragged under. She couldn't see the action at the top of the stairs now Klaus, Sunny and the witch were out of her sight. She was up to her shoulders and sinking relatively fast, she looked down and saw her wedding dress disappear along with her. She was too shocked, paralysed with fear – she couldn't scream for help! The chocolate flooring that had been at the base of the stairs was completely melted now, liquid. It was rising, like a flood up the stairs, up to engulf her drown her, in violent, large waves. She felt fear turn her cold and rigid, she tried to fight but her body wouldn't respond, she saw the brown flood of chocolate rising towards her, he was at head-level in the sticky pit now. The suffocating stench of candy made her heave; the music had become a constant high scream.

She was sinking.

Sinking.

Sinking.

Down.

The first wave of red-hot melted chocolate splashed over her head and everything went black.

--

Her white fingers gripped the rim of the old, grubby bathroom sink as her back was pressed down with another heave. She vomited. Heaved. Vomited. Heaved and vomited until she contained no more and fell to her haunches against the old, grimy bathtub. Tears spilled down her cheeks and she bit her lip to suppress sobs. Her head throbbed and the crook of her right elbow stung where she'd been injected with an evil hallucinogenic. Within the time of her coming-to at the table, and entering the lounge, the drug- whatever it had been exactly – had kicked in and took her to a horrific world. But in a strange way it was a relief that she'd been drugged. It made sense now that a trip of going across the empty, right-way-round, lounge, going up the _real_ dusty, wooden, crooked stairs, finding the bathroom had been warped into a nightmarish funhouse by the strong, cruel, dosage.

She stood. Her skull felt three times as heavy from the trauma and side-effects, her whole body shivered in her dusty wedding dress, her knees wobbled weakly under the weight of the whole experience and her throat was sore from vomiting and holding back her sobs. She wiped her eyes and washed the vomit away down the sink, wincing in disgust and embarrassment. The window to her right cast a beautiful, eerie, white light into the bathroom, the cold air blew in through the various holes in the panes. She felt herself shudder and her insides ached. As much as she wanted to, she couldn't stay here and sleep in the cold, dirty bathtub. She was in a frail state as it would, sleeping in such conditions would make her too unfit for escape. Surely there was a bedroom that no-one was sleeping in...

She padded quietly to the window and looked down to the front of the house, the cars had gone, leaving long acceleration indents engraved into what she could barely call "the driveway". But it was apparent the either the cars had been moved, or she was completely alone.

_Alone with Olaf._

She turned her back on the moon, facing the door. She wouldn't find him, she'd manoeuvre around wherever he was sleeping, as silent as possible, she'd find an empty bedroom and as soon as she could she'd escape from here and walk to the nearest town and phone the police. Thanks to Klaus, Olaf and his troupe were wanted now. Her heart sank and longed for her siblings back, but she'd need rest and energy and bravery, until she could get back with the ones she loved the most...

--

_This and the next chapter were gonna be in one big chunk, but I'm too kind, and split it up._

_Read forth!_

_(Oooh and reviews would be MARVELLOUS! ;D)_


	8. You're Pretty When You're Mine

**Chapter 8: You're Pretty When you're Mine.**

_Took the title from the **VAST** song "**Pretty When you cry**" which is, like,_

_SO VIOLAF, ohmygawd! You SO have to listen to it._

_(if you do, watch it on YouTube **BEFORE** you read this. It's worth it. TRUST.) _

_Also Lemony Snicket owns all these characters and shizz, which makes me like, SO jealous._

_Why am I having these "prep girl" moments? I am English. I drink tea._

_On with the chapter!_

(Characters are Lemony Snickets!)

_--_

His orb like eyes reflected back at him in the window; miniature replicas of the giant moon illuminating the sky that night. The large, glass needle was gripped in his knuckles, pointed towards the old, grimy ceiling. He'd sat and pondered for an hour whether he'd done the right thing. Drugging and therefore delaying the girl, while the circus that referred to themselves as his troupe had been ushered out to leave him to business...

That had been his main issue on his brain: her. And who was he to kid? she'd been permanently there these last few months. He felt himself wanting her just as much as the money. Something inside made him realise that he'd never be able to kill her off after getting her money and- he shuddered at the thought- sex.

No. It was deeper than that.

She was a smart girl, as well as beautiful, she'd saved her siblings as well as herself from a number of tricky situations he'd trapped them in. It was her brains as well as her beauty and money that fascinated him. She wasn't like the pumpkin-headed monkey or the beanpole bookworm. She was unique, she was different.

His smirk darkened maliciously.

_From tonight, she was his._

--

She stepped out into the darkened hallway, no longer black and white, no longer upside down and no longer candy. Just the way you'd expect to see a hallway in the rundown house of an evil villain. She trod on the rotting floorboards and grimy, ugly carpet carefully, avoiding any squeaks and creaks that could wake Olaf up. Her white wedding ballet-esque slippers were becoming dirtier with dust and grime with each careful step. She passed ajar doors, most didn't have beds but were filled with junk; old bottles, newspaper, dirty plates. Others catered for their recent "success" _The Marvellous Marriage: _dismembered costumes ripped up scripts scattered on various floors like confetti, make up, the large mirror and eye-decorated trunk that was in her tent. And other rooms were simply bare. No bed. No wardrobe. No sofa - nothing but the illumination from the window of the huge, full moon on the dank floorboards. Also it catered to a scurrying mouse that often disappeared through a hole in the wall, only to return again with some small, furry friends.

Finally, she found one. It contained what remained of a four-poster bed remained, to get a good image just imagine that a bear, who needed some bedposts, came in and ripped, wrenched and tore all four of them away without care and without a decent saw or axe. Now were four splintered stumps and a slightly dusty bed. The window had been smashed and spiders had long-ago taken this as a go-ahead decorated wildly with their slivery strings that shone in the moonlight. It didn't look like home but it would do. She paused in mid-step forgetting to listen for the heavy breathing of a light sleeper. She'd hate to walk right into his trap. He heard nothing. Only a gentle gust making the broken window panes rattle a little bit every now and again. Besides, if Olaf had wanted a room for himself, he'd have made sure it was the best one in the house, not the one with the ripped off bedposts, broken windows and no mirror.

She cast her eyes, to the window again and her heart almost stopped. Olaf was sat on the window pane, looking out at the landscape around them; he hadn't noticed her presence at all. He didn't move and inch his breathing was difficult to see. One of his long, thin legs hung down, whilst the other propped him up on the ledge. However, when she blinked, he had gone. Vanished. Into thin air. She wobbled slightly- another hallucination as the drug wore off. Her sight blurred a bit and then she looked up groggily at the face of the moon. She was alone. She was safe here.

She padded to the bed and sat on the dusty sheets, she wearily removed her shoes, untying them from around her knees and placing them gently at the side of her bed. She unbuttoned her dress and pulled it off over her head. She removed the stupid little decorations from her head and placed them on top of her neatly folded dress, beside the shoes. She stood shakily, to feel silk against her skin... silk? She looked down and saw that she'd been dressed in lingerie for her wedding night- a silky red Basque, suspenders, red net stockings and silky red French knickers- All to please Olaf. _Ha, unlikely,_ she thought, crossing to the window slowly and staring out at the giant moon. It was sort of relaxing here, she thought slowly coming down from her drug episode. She suppressed a laugh. If she was ever to be drug tested then she surely wouldn't know what reason to give. She closed her eyes as a cool breeze washed over her from the shattered pane; it felt cool on the bare patches of skin. Her breathing became regular, her skin cooled, her nipples hardened but she enjoyed the relaxing sensation. She arched her back like a stretching cat enjoying the icy air over her troubled sweaty, feverish skin, the way it stroked her thighs and caressed her neck alternating in such a way that brought a small smile to her face. Her heart almost stopped at a realisation that she didn't want to believe.

There wasn't a gust. There was someone behind her.

She took a step back and felt two hands snake around her silk-dressed waist; the breath on her skin was hot and familiar. She spun around in the person's grasp and found nobody there. An empty room stared back at her.

Another goddamn hallucination, she cursed as she felt sick again. Her body wanted to get rid of anything her stomach couldn't cope with, but she willed it all down. She turned back to the window and wiped her sweating forehead with her cold forearm. Her mind was still under the tricks of the drugs, that was all, nothing to worry about...

She dropped her arm to her side and looked at her pasty, frail, lingerie-clad reflection. She frowned there were two pale orbs above her head. She squinted, thinking it being a weird trick of light somehow. But she knew what it was.

It was the moon reflecting in the shiny, shiny eyes of Count Olaf.

--

Violet was rooted to the spot as a familiar greasy voice reached out to her.

"_Well, hello, hello, hello, Violet_." He said her name as if it was a sexual word that children would giggle about in the playground, but wouldn't know the meaning of. She was afraid that _he_ understood completely. She was scared he could read her like a book. He'd soon know her dark little secrets that she'd buried deep within her soul. He drew closer; she didn't take her eyes of his reflecting eyes. He didn't take his eyes of hers either. She felt his thin, cold, spidery hands caress her silky curves, as he pressed into her. She felt his hot erection against her back and had to fight herself from moaning. She was dressed in a silk Basque, suspenders and knickers, alone in his house and it was the night of their wedding... it must've been like Christmas to Olaf. His hands began to stroke her and she stared and angrily at the reflection of his eyes.

"You're just another Goddamn hallucination. You drugged me." She spat. He crooned and kissed her neck, making her suppress a hot flush. "I'm sorry my dear, this is _all_ real, I'm sad to say. The come-down from the hallucinogenic you were on is quick and does only allow quick apparitions. Like I say, this is all real..." And to prove his point he pinched her buttock. She cursed sharply and blushed under his wheezy laugh.

"What do you want?" She growled. She wasn't going to stand for this. This man was the cause of all her sorrow. She wasn't going to give into him. Not now, not ever. He chuckled again and his hands snaked to the front of her Basque. They caressed her aching stomach; they made areas much below ready... wanting.

"What do _I_ want? I want you to be happy, Violet." He crooned, smiling into the long black strands of her hair and taking in gentle breaths of her aroma.

"How can I be happy?" She choked against her tears, suddenly over-emotional from her come-down, "You forced me to marry you! You sent away my brother and sister to be killed! You tried to rape..." She trailed off, blushing. She didn't want to remind him of _that_; she didn't want to give him ideas. His fingers had found her buttocks and were squeezing and kneading them, she closed her eyes with a quiet gasp from a hot flush. She hated herself for wanting this. It made her feel sick and confused and frustrated.

"I didn't want to hurt you, sweetheart, I didn't. But you're pretty when you cry." He whispered in her ear, his fingers had gone to the front of the Basque again, stroking her thighs with his very finger tips, they slipped over the front over the front of her panties and she felt herself leaning into his touch. Biting her lip, her eyes clamped shut, _"It's time to come home to the forest with the wolf now, little Red, Grandma can't look after you forever..."_ He lowered his head and began to suck her neck, his tongue drawing hot, slow, deliberate, dizzying circles over her skin. She moaned aloud as his fingers squeezed and rubbed her thighs, the licking of her neck making her flush harder for longer, she grasped onto the window pane, savouring him hard and pressing into her, straining to get into her... _She wanted this and she hated herself, she wanted this and she hated herself, she wanted this and she hated herself, she wanted this and she hated him..._

"NO!" She screamed, kicking her foot back like an ill-tempered donkey. It smacked into him - the knee that she'd injured before. He leapt back and she made a run for the door. His laughter followed her. She turned her head to see him heaving himself back onto both feet, a glinting key in his grimy fingers. His erection was bulging and huge within his trousers. She blushed and averted her eyes away, back to his evil shiny eyes, still filled with wolfish lust. The moonlight washed over him from behind, making him seem taller and broader than he was. She began to shake and whimper; helpless and alone. "You're my countess now; you can't leave me on our wedding night!" He hissed, then following with a sharp chuckle.

He grabbed her by the shoulders with a strength she never knew he could possess; he spun her around and threw her back onto the bed. She landed amongst the old dusty sheets, her eyes itching from the dust. She lay stunned and afraid, watching him look smug with himself. His eyes shone like hellfire in the ghostly moonlight, his smile was a Cheshire-cat grin of yellowing fangs. She was in his trap now. She was the fly in his web...

This time, she wouldn't escape.

His hands began to trail up to the silly necktie he'd worn for the _Marvellous Marriage_. With the flick of a wrist, he'd slipped it off and it had fluttered to the floor like a paper snake. He unsnapped every button down his shirt, not taking his shining eyes off her. Every button undone was a heartbeat closer to whatever he had planned. Not a word was said, the silence was agonizing. It was if Violet was submerged deep under water, the fear had killed any noise and slowed his every move. She could feel her own heartbeat in her throat. The white shirt slipped away and was thrown into the darkness, flying away like a grimy, grey ghost; his scruffy black wedding trousers were then the penultimate thing to go. His chest was sickly pale. Little grey, wiry hairs dotted his chest. His bellybutton harboured a long line of this silvery hair and disappeared into his yellowing underpants, where other things began.

She froze.

Still smirking, he began to crawl towards her along the bed. She didn't feel the lust she'd submitted to earlier, just fear - pure, innocent, childish fear. He knew what he wanted and she'd always been a sucker for fantasising about that sort of thing but now... she'd changed her mind. He climbed on top over and hovered over her as if in a push-up position. She cringed and shivered under his rock-hard stiffness. He was face to face with her, eye to shiny eye. He didn't blink or look away; he just hovered over her, in his near-nakedness, in the middle of the night, in an abandoned house, in the middle of nowhere. His perverted smirk grew, he rubbed himself deliberately against her thigh and she bit her lip.

"Your turn, darling. _Strip_."

Violet squirmed against him and tried to wriggle away towards the headboard, but he knew it was coming. He grabbed each of her wrists and pinned them down either side of her head.

"Do it. Or I will. You know I wouldn't hesitate, Violet." He snarled viciously. His hot wine-ridden breath washed over her making her squirm more. She clamped her eyes shut and shook her head furiously, moaning a frail; "no, no, no, no..."

Olaf always keeps his promises.

His one hand grabbed her by the throat, whilst the other slid under her back and pinged open every little fastener of her Basque painstakingly slow. She felt the cold, dusty sheet against her bare skin of her back and it made her wince more. By the time he got to the bottom one, she realised with a painful embarrassment that he was going to see her naked. No-one but herself had seen her maturing body, and the side of her that _wasn't_ sex-obsessed didn't want him to be the first.

He whipped it away.

He looked as if Christmas had come early; he'd gotten the biggest fortune in the world, a giant roast beef dinner all to himself and a lifetime's supply of cheap red wine. Violet cringed, and turned her head away and tried to ignore the long, thick erection hardening further against her inner thigh. She squirmed again, more feebly this time. But he lowered his face into hers again. He whispered perverted nothings to her, never breaking the eye contact or the tight grip he had on both wrists again.

"This could possibly be _better_ than your fortune, girl, you're _beautiful_..." To prove his point right, he slowly lowered his head and began to lap at her cold nipple with his hot tongue. She moaned. Louder than she'd ever done in her life. He smirked up at her blushing face and began to perform his circle trick again, enclosing his mouth over her small breast and drawing slow circles around her nipple, making her hot and sticky... not only there, but also in lower places. His one hand released her wrist and slid down to her suspender belt and panties. He scraped his long, grubby nails down them and the lace began to tear. In the blink of an eye, the red lace that had been her only covering left was on the floor in shreds. Like the miniature remains of a bloody animal carcass. His own underwear was soon to land on top of the once luxurious-and-sexy wreckage.

They were both completely naked now.

He smirked up at her, from her breast. He released the other hand. He began to slide his tongue south from his current position.

All.

The.

Way.

Down.

All Violet felt next was a mind-spinning rush of pleasure, she groaned, moaned and gasped again. A sane part of her tried to wiggle away, but she was immobile with shock and fear. A primitive part of her brain told her to stay exactly where she was and enjoy the experience. She did - to the realistic, sensible side of her brains disgust. Olaf had become a part of her moral somehow. She'd always wanted this deep inside. She'd fantasize of him punishing her for doing chores poorly, when she'd lived in his care. She'd imagine him dismissing Sunny and Klaus or waiting until she was the only one still working as they slept, until he'd strike... now she'd be getting the cruel, lusty fuck she'd always wanted, but had always hated herself for wanting.

She found her moans getting louder and more frantic, she was grinding along with his tongue movements on her most sensitive areas, enhancing her personal pleasure. She was so hot and sweaty and she wanted nothing more but for the pleasure to go on forever she wanted, she wanted, she wanted...

He stopped.

He crawled back up towards her, his grin (and his erection) at their full size. He moved in his face to hers, so that they were nose to nose. His hands had grasped her sides; he was positioned between her legs. She felt his tip pressed against her opening, and she wanted it, in a lust-crazed, delirious way, she wanted him. Right now. Despite her deep hatred for him.

Her drowsy lust-affected eyes were heavy but never left his aroused, sex-hungry stare. "_If you knew how much I loved you, you would run away. You can never leave me, Violet. Never."_ He leaned in for a kiss, his own eyes becoming heavy-lidded with lust. With the little sensibility she had left, Violet suddenly tried to avert him for a final time, tilting her head away, her eyes filling with tears and her heart stabbing with anguish. This angered Olaf and his nails dug into the flesh of her side. She gasped sharply, her mouth gaped open from the pain and shock of the whole situation. "_I think when I treat you bad it always makes you want to stay..._" Violet bit back the tears that were welling in her eyes and nodded slowly, she turned her head away again as a solitary tear of shame and guilt rolled down her face but he grabbed her cheek and held her face in his hand. He lowered himself in for the kill. In for his wedding prize, in for the fuck of his dreams, with one final comment.

"_You're pretty when you're mine_."

Without warning, he thrust straight into her and her scream of agony was muffled by him diving in and kissing her deeply. His tongue filled her mouth, almost suffocating her. It alternated with his slow thrusting, grinding movements. She tried to disconnect her mouth from his, but the kiss got deeper. She was aware of blood soaking around her thighs, christening the sheets they were sharing. The stinging continued, she tried to kick and wriggle out of it, but the pleasure was beginning to conquer her. He was panting and groaning gruffly and the sound of it turned her on majorly. She felt herself pressing with as much force into him, with him, heightening the pleasure as he began to suck her neck again. Hot, wet, dizzying, erotic, sticky circles, scalding round and round and round. She could feel the same sensation on her sensitive spots, all over her body. She instinctively pushed herself further down onto him

He sped up.

She closed her eyes and focused on the dirty little insults being panted down her ear; _she wanted this. She was his filthy little countess. She was a bad, bad girl who deserved nothing more than a good, hard fuck._ She felt herself believing him and her orgasm began to grow within the pit of her stomach. She pressed harder against him, urging him deeper and called out his name, he fucked her harder and she was mentally sent spiralling in ecstasy. The sound of her first ever husky, groaning orgasm brought him to his gruff-sounding but mind-blowing one, withdrawing and coming on the dirty old sheets instead of inside her. The last thing he wanted was conception to steal his money and time with Violet.

He rolled off her, to her side. He was smirking larger than ever now, his arm snaked around her but she did not respond as he pulled her in towards him and took the folded, unused bed sheet from on top of the pillows and whipped it out of its neat square, to form a thin blanket over them.

Not another word was said that night. Olaf had his new wife at his side, officially deflowered and his; what's more he had her enormous fortune to spend on himself. Therefore, he easily fell into a contented, exhausted, noisy sleep.

As for Violet. She'd gained nothing.

She'd lost her virginity and her dignity all in one moment. She felt disgusted with herself as she rolled over to face away from her contented, sweaty, snoring husband. She clamped her eyes shut and fought back the tears. Her skin felt itchy and on fire with repulsion. The fact she'd lost herself and actually enjoyed herself made her feel absolutely sick to her stomach. If her late parents were in any knowledge of what she'd just done, then she'd rather go to hell than be re-united with them. She'd betrayed her entire family and VFD by fraternizing with the enemy. Sleeping with a man she hated to the pit of her stomach because, one, he'd pretty much raped her and, two, her adolescent lust had took a hold of her.

She could have screamed the foulest words in self-hatred, self-loathing. She wanted to yank at her hair until it tore away in thick, knotty, black rags. She wanted to scrub her skin until glinting bone was all she was. She wanted to yank out her teeth, gums and tongue and scour them with bleach and heavy-duty cleaning chemicals until they eroded. She didn't feel pure anymore. He'd taken everything. _Everything_. And she enjoyed her degradation. For this, she felt she didn't deserve to see her siblings. She didn't deserve happiness of any sort.

She choked back a sob as Olaf yanked her closed in his semi-state of sleep and held her tight to prevent any escape. She bit her knuckle to suppress a delirious, tired, infuriated scream of pure internal agony.

Down, the tears sadly rolled.

Even after she had fallen asleep.

--

Wow.

What a chapter! To write, that is, it's probably puree'd mush to read.

Cold shower, anyone?

I think, the story is coming to a slow end.

And that the next chapter will be a concluding one.

Want a happy ending? Dissapointed?

_Hey! Marriage is no picnic!_

_:D_

Reviews would be reeeeeeallly appreciated.

Tar:)

xx


	9. Dirty Water

**Chapter 9: Dirty Water.**

_Hey ho mateys!_

_Sorry for the wait._

_Have had AS Level exams._

_Hey! College is no picnic._

_:p_

_Anyhoward, here is the last-but-one chapter of the Muchly Miserable Marriage._

_Enjoy andall R&R'S are appreciated._

_Enjoy._

_(Characters don't belong to me. Gutted. :)_

_--_

Violet woke the next morning to the severely bright desert glare streaming though the glass pane that substituted for a proper window. She groaned and creased her face up in discomfort and pain. Her whole body felt like it was made from lead. She couldn't move from fatigue and pain. She remembered suddenly about the beast that'd slept next to her and her heart leaped into her throat. Sleep had been a salvation and she was disappointed to now have to face reality.

She shuffled backward, towards where he'd be lying at her side. She'd ensured she'd distanced herself from him before she sleep. His rattling breath had frightened, repulsed and annoyed her all at the same time. She'd frowned at his through the gloom. _What a charming man, _she'd thought bitterly, as the tears slowed their pace down her cheeks.

She'd found nothing on her backwards, shuffling adventure. The bed was vacant so far. She shuffled further back, blind to what... or who she'd bump into.

Nothing.

Angry at herself for being so discreet. She flipped herself over to find the bed was vacant.

Her heart sunk back into her chest, fluttering from the panic that was no more... for now. She sighed in relief and flopped on her back, staring up at the grimy ceiling. The previous night had all seemed a blur to her. She remembered the tower and the walkie-talkie, the orange tent and the box, the smell of honeysuckle on a summers night and the glare of the stage lights... she remembered Klaus, helpless being dragged away forever.

Violet rolled over again and buried her face in the pillow in a somewhat depressed state. She felt numb and sick. Especially recalling being pinned down on stage and the later things that had happened mere hours ago. She bit down on the dusty pillow, repressing a scream from tearing through the house and alerting the troupe... if they were still here. It made her feel queasy that they'd probably all read the sick smile on Olaf's face as he attempted to be menacing and order them around... Maybe they'd gone? Maybe they had homes and families to go to when they weren't babysitting Olaf.

Violet shook her head at such thoughts. They were all as bad as each other and she hated them all the same. But Olaf was her bull's-eye on the target of loathing. He'd stripped her of everything and now she just felt, hollow, empty, void... nothing.

She groaned and pulled herself up to sitting position at the edge of the bed. Looking down, she did not see her usual night-garments, of fie lace and soothing silk, but her own bare flesh. She gasped and wrapped the blanket around her in panic, just in time too, as the Hook Handed Man entered – struggling with the door handle first though.

"The count would like his wife to attend breakfast after a bath. No doubt it was a _hot_ night, last night, eh?" He chuckled like a parrot with emphysema before leaving, the door shutting with a sharp bang as he went.

_Wife_. Those four little letters made Violet feel angry and aggressive. It made her want to trash the already trashed room, rip the already ripped sheets and smash the already smashed window. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply to calm herself, but it never worked. Be aware dear reader, breathing exercises are not guaranteed to help unhappy arranged marriages to malicious, greedy counts.

The sun was a scalding eye above the horizon. _Funny_, she thought bitterly, _even nature's watching me now. Everything's watching me, everything knows._ Every oval and circular shape around seemed to be a portal into seeing Violet Baudelaire's miserable marriage. She cursed at losing her train of thought. As much as she didn't want to, she knew she'd need a bath. Her skin was sweaty, eyes sleepy and her thighs bloody. The mere thought of the state she was in made her feel like a beggar. Maybe it wouldn't be long until she lost her hair, had her fingernails stain yellow and she'd be a perfect gargoyle wife for this travelling circus show.

She shivered despite the sweltering heat and with the dirty blanket wrapped around her, she stood and made for the door, between her thighs seared like she was carrying a bowling ball in her stomach. Each small step, conjured a sharp sting in intimate areas. She cursed Olaf further. If he hadn't violated her she would've been able to plan her escape on better health terms. Yet, she shuffled down the dim, humid hallway, hearing rattling, banging and instructions on how to make oatmeal properly. She cast a fearing look down the grimy stairway, hoping they hadn't heard her stir. She continued down the hall, past broken wine bottles, discarded wigs and over large wine crates to the bathroom.

The bathroom looks a lot better than it did last night... Violet thought, casting her eyes over the dusty orange curtains, mucky floor and clogged sink of cold water and make-up. She clicked the door shut behind her and shuffled, in her cocoon of wedding sheets, over to the bathtub. Pleasant, warm steam caressed her face and she felt her worries fade slightly. In this house of horrors, she'd found a sanctuary.

She turned back to the closed door. Its paint was peeling and the hinges were bloody with rust. There was a keyhole... and a key! She shuffled as possible over to it and turned it to hear a thick, heavy click. Satisfied, she placed the key on the toilet cistern and saw on the toilet lid... a dress. It was her dress! From the old days. Purple and striped! She smiled at her memory of it, it was the dress she wore before she was forced to wear her wedding gown and it had followed her! Only... when she lifted it to unravel, someone... and Violet didn't need to guess who, had enlarged rather messily with some scissors, so it exposed her cleavage. Violet scowled and threw the dress back onto the toilet lid, when it crumpled on top of the clean underwear from the chunky old suitcase she and her siblings had dragged everywhere with them.

Violet shakily removed the bed sheet from around her naked body and placed it below the grubby, grey toilet. Her ears scanning the house for any nearing sound. She felt safe with the door shut, but any disturbances wouldn't be appreciated as she planned her escape.

She stepped precariously into the warm water, and then lowered herself in until she was up to her neck. The water was warm and comforting. Safe like a Childs security blanket, she felt cosy here. No entry to the bathroom and a homely bath for the new _wife_.

That word again. She gritted her teeth before sitting up and casting a look at the grotty pane of glass fitted into the wall to make a pathetic excuse of a window. The glass didn't look that hard to break... but the sound was to be a nuisance and the fall would kill her. There was no hope. Not even the bed sheet would lower her to a safe enough height to drop from.

She cursed, sank back into the back and closed her eyes in irritancy. Her minds cogs stirred slowly round and round but an inventive train of thought was spluttering and failing to start. She had to get out of here. It was too obvious to leave through the front door and all the windows were too risky.

She tapped her submerged toe against the side of the bath to help her

Think.

Think.

Think

Thi-

She stopped when her concentration was abruptly interrupted by the soap colliding with her toe. She sank lower into the bath and made a sneaky grab for it with her toe. She clamped her eyes tightly, trying to figure something out. Her toe grabbed it to find there was more, another toe... a foot... a leg...

She jerked up splashing water everywhere, as she found herself sharing a tub with no one else but her new husband.

--

Violet was speechless, she pulled her body into a tight ball at the opposite end of the bathtub. He smirked smugly at her and gave a dirty wink. "Having fun?" He wheezed, his shiny eyes flicking up and down her pale, beautiful form. She lowered her gaze from his naked form and he barked as sharp as a whip with sick amusement.

"Don't cower from me, Violet. I've seen it all before..." Violet felt her innards squirm and her heart began to angrily stir in her chest like a sumo wrestler on his back, having a seizure. She felt sick and dirty, and she'd been cheated. He had a key after all. He wanted her to relax and feel falsely safe. She'd have battered her conscious for it now, but it was far too late.

He manoeuvred towards her and placed both arms on the side of the tub behind her. She was trapped, naked and vulnerable – not the best start to a happy marriage. She kept her body scrunched tightly up, yet his took up most room with his long spidery legs. He lowered his face in and attempted to kiss her. Not happening. She turned her head away with a sharp wince and a tremble of fear. He cleared his throat in annoyance and tried again. She ducked the other way. He grabbed her throat, she stayed still. He played over her neck with his lips, brisk soft kisses, leaving itching hateful sensations like a beetle scurrying over her face hurriedly. She scrunched her eyes closed again and prayed he'd lose interest or give up with her reluctance.

Olaf wasn't like that.

His mouth found its mark on there neck and he licked in hot, dizzying circled sucking to reinforce her pleasure. She could feel her clit becoming sore after its abuse last night and she prayer harder still. He encased her with his body now. Kneeling before her clutched ball of weak security. His fingers had pinched stingingly at her calves until they went slack, without hesitation, he thrust two fingers in and began to wiggle around and shove them, in and out, in and out. Violet screamed out in agony, but he took his chance and sealed her open mouth with his own. Massaging her lips with his and trying to bring her doubtful tongue to life with his. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She'd never felt pain like it, she'd hesitantly agree last night only lasted a while but this was like sticking pins into her urethra and surrounding genitals. It was like a magnified water infection just never stopping, never considering her pain and never thinking about her mental state of gloom and dirty shame.

He alternated his kisses with his thrusting fingers, jabbing, teasing, rubbing, and tickling. She hated it, she hated it all. She'd never enjoy it, she swore, she'd never let him win seeing her revelling in the pleasure. Instead she whimpered and choked, the pain was just too much.

He withdrew his fingers and his kiss. Her legs buckled and her mouth burned. She wanted to vomit, she wanted to kick out she wanted to cry she wanted to perish. He was smirking down at her, his erection visible under the water, throbbing and ready. She didn't want to be here. She didn't want him to be here. She didn't want anything anymore.

He lowered himself to her ear, and she flinched slightly, but she wasn't deaf-

"Let me wash you Countess."

Violets stomach turned and she shook her head frantically, a fresh sob rose from her throat. She felt dirty again. She didn't feel any want. She just wanted to sink under the water and crumble to dust.

He grabbed her throat with both hands this time, supporting himself in his kneel. His face darkened with rage and lust, a sinful mix of wanting and impatience. "I wont ask you again." He snarled into her face. His breath stank of cheap wine and oatmeal. She wanted to retch at the scent but he had control over her breathing as well as well as her body.

She gasped and choked against his grip, but she still shook her head like a ragdoll being shaken by a malevolent child. She scrunched her eyes together but the image of his lusty scowl burned into her thoughts like a scorching brand. She could hear his infuriated deep breathing, growing faster and faster. She could hear his gritted teeth scrape like nails on a chalkboard. Being so close to him made her more frightened than anything she'd ever feared.

"Never!" She spluttered against his grimy, damp hand. He roared with anger and shoved her under the water.

There was silence.

Violet was shocked by the impact, yet tranquil to be away from his angered face. Primitively, her body kicked out and struggled frantically as he held her under the once calming water. There was only so much time she could hold her breath. He was trying to teach her the two morals of his life – lust and violence, be washed sensually or be washed violently. The choice was hers.

He yanked her up by her throat again. Her lungs filled with as much air as they could muster, the late morning sunlight pierced her eyes and made her brain sear. Her neck throbbed and stung... her heart was frantic.

He rammed against the side of the bath again. Her legs were parted and he was in between them, dangerously close to entering her and repeating last night's performance. She cringed and her back shrunk as much as it could against the porcelain to be away from him. He lowered his face into hers. So close to kissing. She could see every single flaw in those shiny, shiny irises. She quaked, but couldn't break the stare.

"I wont ask again." He breathed over her. He was extremely close to penetrating her. She felt like dying, she wasn't even able to imagine to horrific stinging she'd feel if he thrust in sharply and pounded away.

She snapped her sopping wet head away from him and nodded mournfully, giving in to her body's disgust and fear. He smirked, his frown turning into a lusty leer; he wanted nothing more than a hard morning fuck. She knew by now he always won. It was a rule, she was no match when it came to the battle of the sexes. He grabbed her forearms and a bar of yellowing soap that was balancing on the side of the bath. He yanked her forwards, so she was on his lap, his legs stretching almost to the other side of the bath. He put the soap between his wet palms and rubbed it hard, staring hard as her small breasts moved with the motion. He looked up to her eyes and gave her a sick grin. She looked away, feeling more repulsed and dirty. His lathered hands encased her breasts and massaged them in circular motion. He moaned and whispered something too quiet to hear and too dirty to want to hear.

He sunk his mouth on her stomach and played with her skin with his tongue, lapping the grimy water off her pale, gentle skin, watching her with those hungry eyes, waiting for her to cave in and submit. But she looked away. The floor, the ceiling, anywhere apart from the monster licking at her nipple, having cleansed the soap away with handfuls of now lukewarm bathwater. She wasn't to submit, he probably didn't care if she did. He was her master now, he could do whatever he damn-well liked to her, she couldn't fight back. That was an intimate secret they both discovered last night...

"I'm going into town today; have to spend that fortune of yours somehow, eh? ...I'll buy you something nice. Something to... wear. That'd cheer me up, to no end that would." He grabbed her wrist and shoved her off his lap, she was kneeling at his level now, Wait high in the water. She was quivering, but not from the heat no. At her imprisonment, at the thought of what this perverted demon would make her commit next. He was so unexpected, she was on demand for whenever he wanted... and she couldn't fight against that.

He grabbed her small, pale, shaking hand in his large, spidery own. He looked her in the eyes and licked his lips at her. They were caught in a gaze. Who ever looked away first, lost. She stared into the face of a murder, a rapist, an arsonist... a bad actor. She despised him for everything he was and nothing was ever going to change that.

They continued their stare, neither of them blinking or saying a word. She was aware he was pulling the arm he'd grasped, but she dared not move her line of sight away from his eyes. She felt him position her fingers, wrapped around his stiff thick cock, she shuddered and was about to rip it away from him, when his hand joined hers, beginning to guide her, up and down, up and down, faster every time. She felt sick. She felt like she was going to go crazy with the disgust, she wanted to vomit, she wanted to scream.

He wrapped his free arm around her and pulled her closer. His free hand started to trace over her erogenous spots, her neck, her bare, shivering shoulders, her creamy thighs... her clit. She gasped out, with the sharp sting, but his stare took her mind off it. Neither had torn away yet. It was like a Russian roulette, who was the most unfortunate, lost. Violet knew who that was straight away.

Her clit melted and grinded against his touch, her mind wasn't aware her body wanted more. We was beginning to pant, thrusting her hand harder pleasuring him more roughly. He caressed her buttocks and pulled her closer still. He lowered his head and licked at her neck, those everlasting scaling circles, that forever went around and around, burning desire into her soul and making her little pussy wet. She closed her eyes tight and willed the growing pleasure to go away. He was moaning into her neck now, the tugging he made her do was frantic and crazy. He sucked and lapped at her neck in that very same frenzy. His free hand, jabbing up into her cunt, she'd begun to moan too. Her mind was screaming at her body.

Images flashed in her mind as her eyes remained sealed. _Her parents, the burnt down house. Justice Strauss and her library of wonders, her bother and sister... cuddled and crying in the desert as a silhouette pointed a gun down at them. A silhouette of a trigger being slowly pulled at her sibling who were lying defensele_-

"NO!" Violet shoved him away with all the strength she had in her body. The impact flung her against the opposite end of the bath. Her back seared against the slippy, hard porcelain. She looked up into his eyes, dazed from the shock of what she'd just done. Olaf's face was hideously contorted with rage, his eyes blazed with fury, his yellowing teeth were clenched like the silent snarl of a dog. His erection stood tall, throbbing and firm, pointed directly at her.

Not a good time to stick around. She leapt from the bath, but he was quick to follow, grabbing her ankle. Her singular wet foot was no use on it's own and she slipped, face floor to the dusty bathroom floor, coating her pale soaked skin with thick grime and dust. He clambered out after her, still gripping her ankle like ravenous eagle with prey in its claws. He grabbed her forearms, and flipped her over to face him.

"DON'T YOU EVER TRY THAT AGAIN, WHORE!" He spat, before striking her across the face several times, back and forth, back and forth. He gripped her shoulder and threw her back to the floor, where her bloodied cheeks stained the once-white tiles.

He wrenched the back of her calves and wrenched her legs open, and without hesitation he shoved his full girth and length into her. She sobbed with the pain as whatever hadn't been torn last night, tore now. She was aware of more blood dripping down her thighs to the floor. He clawed at her sides and thrust himself in and out at alarming pace and force. He was going to get this over with, he wasn't leaving unsatisfied. Violet made no contribution, just lay face down sobbing as her dignity withered once again and mental images of her butchered sibling, burning house and decaying parents scored her minds eye.

Olaf was so close now. He was moaning harshly and gruffly, through angry pants and hissed words of smut. She shied away from it all. She tried to numb the pleasure. There was barely any left; she cringed into the floor, tears leaving droplets of the white cracked marble. With an enormous gruff groan, Olaf withdrew and came violently beneath, all over Violet's trembling back. She cringed and whimpered as he regained his breath, stood and wrapped the bedsheet around himself as a bathrobe. She lay still, quivering, repressing screams and wails. He looked down on her with a sick glee. When she finally dared to look up, he was in the doorway, grinning down on her.

"Clean yourself up Countess." He spat before cackling and slamming the door shut, proceeding to his room to dress, whistling merrily down the hallway as he went.

--

Reviews pweeease?

Thanks.

:)


	10. A note from the author

A note from the author.

Hello!  
Just a quick note, to say, how sincerely sorry I am for not updating this fic in a very, very, very long time! I have been extremely busy finishing college and starting university – and now I'm in final year! Time flies, eh?

This fic is NOT abandoned, so fear ye not! I will be revising the previous chapters (So keep your eyes peeled, there may be some changes! *suspense*) And I've no doubt that I will update with the next chapter before you know it! (This here message will be deleted and the new chapter will be in its place, so just keep checking if it FF doesn't let you know.)

Other than that, cheers for all your wonderful reviews, adding to favourites, etc, etc.  
And a Merry Christmas and a happy new year to all!


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